


Learn to Fly

by AlyKat



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: All part of the Ineffable Plan, Aziraphale and Crowley Met Before The Fall (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), God Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Love through the years, M/M, Memory Alteration, Michael's a wanker, Not to be mistaken for the Great Plan, Post-Armageddon, Post-Fall (Good Omens), Pre-Armageddon, Pre-Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Pre-Fall (Good Omens), So is Gabriel, a 6000 year long love story, brief mentions of Aziraphale/various partners, memory manipulation, metaphysical angel marriage, minor scene of potentially dub-con, non-graphic description of metaphysical angel sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22311802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: He was an angel without a name and without a title. Mocked and picked on for being small for their kind. It wasn't until God put him into Rafael's care that he began to flourish. And it was Rafael who gave him the most precious gift of all. His name.Following the Great War in Heaven, the pair finds themselves on opposite sides. Neither having any real clear memories of their time before the Fall, yet still drawn to each other. As if it were part of some great, ineffable plan the Almighty had been playing with since before time...Part of theGood Omens Big Bang 2019
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 256
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title comes from the Foo Fighters' song "Learn to Fly"  
> Each Part's title is a line from that same song. 
> 
> I really think this opening verse of the song just fits these two so much
> 
> _Run and tell all of the angels  
>  This could take all night  
> Think I need a devil  
> To help me get things right_
> 
> Also, I want to give a big big thank you to the Big Bang Mods who convinced me to stay in the Bang when I was so discouraged over my betas AND artists dropping out/disappearing on. I managed to find a great beta off Tumblr, so thank you so much JackDawes, and the mods found me the most amazingly talented illustrator that I just, I have been _blown away_ by their art every time they've shown me their progress! [ Ecchima](https://ecchima.tumblr.com) you definitely made me excited to be a part of this again! Thank you so so much! 
> 
> There are 3 parts to this fic, each part will have various scenes/chapters. 
> 
> I really hope you all enjoy this. I worked super hard on it. I also give permission if anyone feels so inspired to podfic this or create art of your own for it, whatever, I'd be super honored. If you're not inspired to, though, I humbly request a kind word or two in the comments. 
> 
> (ps: The start of each Part will have a banner with the Part number and title, those are my creations)

**CHAPTER ONE**

An angel sat curled up in a little corner of Heaven. A soft smile touching their face as they ran reverent fingers over the top of a scroll. The Almighty had entrusted them to guard it, whatever _it_ was. It was a very important task, that much was certain, otherwise why would they have been told to guard it? They wiggled with quiet contentment, patting the scroll in their lap while musing over what might be so important about it. Perhaps the Lord had created it as a test, a trial run at something. Or it was a list of things the Lord still needed to do. Maybe, maybe it could have even been the first draft of this Divine Plan they’d been hearing rumors of lately. Whatever it was, they were pleased beyond words that the Almighty had chosen them to guard it.

Their attention still held by thoughts of wonder over what it could be, they failed to notice the three approaching figures, white and golden robes swirling around them as they came to a stop just in front of the smaller angel. 

"Well," drawled the first of the three, his unsettling violet eyes cold and calculating, "If it isn't the Lord's precious _Prdzar El_." The Enochian for ‘Small One’ crawled off his tongue in a snide and sarcastic tone, tainting the beautiful language.

The angel looked up, crystalline blue eyes wide in surprise. A smile ticked at the corner of their mouth. “Oh! Gabriel, Michael, Sandalphon. Hullo.” 

The three older angels -- Archangels, to be precise -- all stared down at them with varying levels of malice in their eyes. Michael, her hair pulled back into an elaborate but functional style, folded her arms across her chest and frowned. 

“You were absent from training today, Prdzar El.”

A smile bright enough to light up the heavens spread across the angel’s face as they sat a bit straighter and held the scroll a little tighter. “Oh, yes, uhm...well you see, the Lord asked me to look after this for her. To guard it. I was just doing as she asked of me.”

“And what exactly _is_ that?” asked Sandalphon, looking down his nose with narrowed eyes.

“It’s called a _scroll_. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“What’s its purpose?” Gabriel asked. 

The angel’s sunny smile dimmed as they looked down to their lap and shrugged. “I’m...I’m not sure. The Almighty didn’t say. Just...told me to guard it.”

“The Almighty wouldn’t ask _you_ to guard something new!” With a move faster than the small angel could comprehend, Gabriel lunged for the scroll, yanking it from the angel’s grasp. “ In fact, we’re here because She told _us_ to come and collect it from you. _I’m_ to guard it now.”

“No!” Cried the angel, frantically trying to reach after it. “No, you mustn’t! I told Her I’d look after it!”

Sandalphon stepped forward, followed by Michael, to put themselves between Gabriel and the angel. They loomed over the smaller angel, and he shrank back. 

“Gabriel is the Lord’s messenger, _Prdzar El_ ,” Michael snapped. “It is not your place to question.”

“Besides,” Sandalphon added, “Why would the Lord ask _you_ to guard it? She hasn’t even granted you a proper name or title. You’re incomplete, Prdzal El. She did not finish you.” 

A mirror appeared in front of the small angel, showing their reflection to them for the first time in their -- admittedly short -- life. Blue eyes to rival the color of the sky set into a pale face. A mop of shock-white blonde curls cut close to their skull and a little nose with just a hint of an uptick to it. The angel realized, with a small start, that they looked very little like their brethren. They did, however, have features similar to Gabriel, so perhaps they should like to be referred to as a ‘he’ as well. 

Still, the fact remained he did seem to be incomplete in some way. Beyond just the fact the Almighty truly hadn’t given him a name yet. Or a purpose. Well, nothing except guarding the scroll, which he apparently couldn’t even do. His hair was near white and short, where all the other angels he’d seen had darker hair, falling in waves down past their shoulders. Most of the others had gold accenting their features, where he had not a trace of gold on him. He was dramatically pale, while the others held more colors than he knew ever existed. 

He didn’t understand it, but somehow their words made him feel even smaller. He hadn’t thought of himself as wrong before. 

Looking up at the pair, the small angel nudged the mirror away and moved to stand. The sword he’d been training with since he woke at the dawn of his time held securely in his hand. Though, he hardly seemed at all intimidating compared to the other three. 

“I really must insist you give that back! It was entrusted to me. _Please_.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes and shook his head, turning the scroll over in his hands, completely unsure as to what to do with it, but not willing to let it be _known_ he didn’t know what to do with it. He was an Archangel after all.

“I already told you, Prdzar El, the Lord told me to come and get it from you.”

“No, she didn’t.” The words tripped out of the angel’s mouth before he could catch them. He wasn’t supposed to doubt. Not anyone. Not ever. 

The three Archangels stared at him, mouths slightly agape before Michael hissed, “What did you say?” 

“I said…” He swallowed hard but stood his ground. Grip adjusting on his sword, he started again, forcing his voice not to tremble. “I said she did not tell Gabriel to come and get it. She told _me_ to guard it. Now return it to me, _please_.” 

Michael and Sandalphon were on him in an instant, the sword knocked from his hands easily as they pushed him to a wall, pinning him there. His wings twitched and he cringed from the pain of having them twisted at an odd angle. 

“It’s unwise to doubt the Lord, Prdzal El. You know what happens to angels that doubt, don’t you?”

The angel blinked, his eyes darting from Michael to Sandalphon and back again. He didn’t know what happened to angels that doubted, but something inside told him it wasn’t good. After all, there had been murmurings and whispers about a group who were beginning to doubt God’s plans. He’d heard the rumors, of course, about the one called Lucifer, the Lord’s Morning Star; how he had been going around with four others, planting the seeds of discontent. There was even talk that Lucifer had plans to break from God. The angel didn’t know if any of that was true, but he wasn’t anxious to find out.

“But...But the Lord--”

“Oh, will you please make him be quiet? He’s just repeating himself at this point. Further proof that the Almighty never finished with him. He’s broken and soft. Heaven has no place for an incomplete angel like him.” Gabriel said with a flip of his wrist, turning his back on Michael and Uriel. 

The two shared a smug smirk before their attention turned back to the cowering angel they still had shoved against the wall. For the first time ever the angel felt the sicken twist of dread.

~*~*~

Alone in her own corner workshop, the Lord paused as she was shaping a new creature out of clay. She wasn’t sure she liked it just yet, the shape of its head verses the rest of its body just felt off somehow. Then again, the entire creature looked strange. It resembled too much of the rabbits She had created, except, with antlers like the deer. Maybe it was a bit much. With a frown, Her hand lifted to fold the antlers back just as a rush of fear sliced through her. It was cold and painful, nauseating even. As quick as it fell upon her, it was gone and she realized it wasn’t _Her_ fear, but one of her children. 

With a flash, She came to stand before the small angel where it was curled up on itself, arms around their head as if afraid of another blow coming their way. Her heart broke at the sight. 

“My Prdzar El,” She called softly, warm light engulfing the angel. “What’s wrong?”

A sniffle, followed by a hastily aborted whimper came in response. Red rimmed eyes lifted to look above his arms as he moved to sit up. Her heart ached in sympathy as he adjusted his tattered wings with a poorly suppressed flinch, feathers ascue and even a few laying on the ground. Color had finally splashed across his face, though it was in the blotchy red of his tear stained cheeks, in the darkness forming under one eye, in the gold blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. 

The Lord tsked softly, dropping to her knees to pull the angel close to her. At her touch, his wings became flawless again, pristine white and soft as could be. Her thumb brushed across his warm cheek, drying his tears and fading the darkness from under his eye. He had such beautiful eyes. She was rather proud of them, actually. She’d have to work on creating more of those in the future. Once she created Future, that is. 

“Oh, Prdzar El, what happened?” 

Another sniffle answered as his eyes cast down to his hands. “I...I...well…”

“Yes?”

The angel fidgeted for a moment before taking a deep breath. “I lost the scroll.” It wasn’t a lie. Not yet, at least. “I was guarding it, like...like you told me to. I’m afraid I...I dropped it?”

God raised an eyebrow. “That’s alright. It’s nothing to cry about. Though, it doesn’t explain how you came to be in such disarray. ”

“Oh...I...I uhm...tripped, you see? Yes. I tripped and dropped it. I...must have hit my head on something?” The angel refused to lift his eyes to meet hers. 

She loved all her children, as a good mother should, but there were two that held very special places in her heart of hearts. The one currently out creating stars for her, and this small, timid one. This little angel was unique in so many ways. Not the least of which was his creativity and protectiveness. She had plans for this small one. Such wondrous plans that she could barely keep her own excitement in over them. 

Gathering him up in her arms and standing once more, she held him close as she rubbed her hand up and down his back in a slow, soothing motion and hummed softly. “Prdzar El, what am I to do with you? Should I cast you aside?”

She felt the panic rise up from his body, wings trembling with fear. “M-Mother, please? Please, no! I...I’m sorry I lost the scroll! Gabriel said you had told him to come get it! I tried to guard it! But Michael and Sandalphon --” his mouth snapped shut as the truth finally came out. 

The Lord gave another hum, this time in understanding. “Ah, the Archangels. Yes. Still a bit rough around the edges, I’m afraid. I’ll need to remember to work on them.”

“They called me incomplete,” the admission was soft, barely over a whisper as the angel rested his head on her shoulder, hugging her close for comfort. “They said Heaven had no place for an incomplete angel.”

“You mustn’t think yourself incomplete, Prdzar El. You are mine, and you are just as you are meant to be..”

Blue eyes lifted to meet Her’s, wetness clinging to his long lashes yet again. “Then...why haven’t I been given a name?”

The Lord was quiet as she remembered his creation. She had nearly finished working on him when a curious starmaker leaned a little too close, fine granules of stardust falling to settle on the newest angel. In that moment, no names she could have ever thought of seemed to fit him. He had become something else, something special born from curiosity and the very essence of creation. He was Beautiful. Beloved. Dearest. Those were the names she assigned to him as placeholders until the right time came. 

She thought for a moment, weighing her words and actions carefully. Perhaps, she thought to herself, it was time to set the Ineffable Plan in action. She’d already come up with The Great Plan; Gabriel and Michael were especially looking forward to that. There was another plan, though. One only she knew about. _Operation: Ineffable_. She liked the sound of that. The only downside to the Ineffable Plan was that it would cause great pain and loneliness in her two special angels. She hated to see her children hurting, but in order for The Great Plan to take place, the Ineffable one needed to already be in motion. 

No time like the present. 

“I haven’t given you a name yet, because yours is not mine to give.”

She watched as confusion settled over the angel’s face, pulling his brows together and putting a small furrow between them. Chuckling softly, She gave him a small bounce before starting off down a hall. “It will make sense to you in time, my Prdzar El. But first, there’s someone I want you to meet.”


	2. Chapter 2

Rafael stared at the swirling colors in his hand. They were nice, but still just not quite right. He shook his head. No, they simply wouldn’t do at all, actually. Making a face, he crumpled the colors together, cooling them until they created a mangled mess of solid ice and stone, and tossed it off to the side carelessly. Leaving it, like so many others, to streak across the skies, creating their own brand of beauty where Rafael had seen none. 

He’d been in a rut lately, ever since he’d accidentally sprinkled stardust on the Lord’s newest angel. It had truly been an accident. He’d only leaned closer, trying to get a better look, when a dusting drifted from his hair as it fell forward off his shoulder. Since that moment though, he hadn’t been able to get the angel off his mind. In a way, Rafael had decided not long after, it felt as if a tiny part of him had been left behind in that small angel. Something that kept calling to him there but just out of reach. 

A fizzer of celestial energy surged around him, heralding the arrival of the Almighty. He paused to wipe the stardust from his hands and robes. It was forever going to be stuck in his long hair, he had already accepted that. Besides, he kind of liked it in his hair. Gave the fiery curls a shimmering effect. It was nice. Still, he did his best to tidy himself up before She appeared, a bundle of robes and soft wings clutched to her chest. 

She stared down at him for a moment and Rafael gave a small bow of reverence. He was the middle of the Archangels. Neither the oldest nor the youngest, but still the one the Lord seemed to show some kind of favor towards. It was why he was given the task of creating the cosmos. A large undertaking that kept him occupied more times than not. Of course, on those rare times when his creativity and imagination failed him, he would get frustrated and wander off to see what others were up to. Or more to the point, to see if he could sit with the Almighty while she was creating beings of her own. 

“Rafael, you must be more careful with your discarded plans. That one you threw nearly took out Sandalphon.” 

Rafael couldn’t actually see the harm in that. Sandalphon was a bit of a suck up to Gabriel. 

“Forgive me, Lord,” He answered with another low bow. “I’ll try to aim better next time.” He wasn’t going to say if he was going to aim towards or away from the pompous angel, but he suspected that She knew. Especially given the disapproving frown he got in return. 

With a sigh and a shake of her head, the Almighty gently set the small angel down before she herself decreased in size until she stood just a hair taller than both. Rafael’s eyes widened in surprise once he caught sight of those blonde curls. It was him! The one he’d accidentally sprinkled stardust on! 

“I know you!” He exclaimed, excitedly rushing over to the angel, a bright smile of his own stretched across his face. “Look at you! He didn’t turn out half-bad if I may say so myself. Could use a bit more color though…”

“Rafael…” the Lord’s voice held a kind exasperation to it as she gave a soft sigh. He always seemed to get sidetracked.

Looking up, Rafael snapped his mouth shut and nodded. “Right. Yeah. Sorry.” 

“This is the angel which you helped to create, Rafael. He is your responsibility.” 

A warm weight settled over him at those words, a weight that increased with each word after that. 

“You must guard him and protect him. Keep him safe from harm. This is an important task I am assigning you to, Rafael. Do _not_ take it lightly. Though he is smaller than the rest, the plans I have for him are great. Your role in these plans is just as immense. Bear that in mind as you guide him and watch over him. He is yours, as you are his.” 

A wave of emotion washed over Rafael at that. Had the Lord been listening in on his thoughts whenever he’d been thinking of that angel? That could potentially be a bit embarrassing if she had been. 

With a soft cough and nod, Rafael wiped his hands on his robe once more before stepping forward to gently clasp the angel’s hand in his. So soft and delicate. Just like the rest of him, Rafael thought with an internal sigh. Looking up from where their fingers entwined, he was met by the brightness of those blue eyes, the soft, shy smile and hint of pink rising up on chalk white cheeks. 

“Of course!” 

The angel startled at Rafael’s sudden outburst, but She fought back the urge to giggle at his excitement as Rafael pulled away and quickly turned back to work. 

“Blue...pink...a bit of white...just a bit here. Oh yes! Oh, this looks loads better than that other one…” he muttered to himself as he worked, oblivious to his smiling creator and the still confused angel who, at Rafael’s outburst, had scuttled to hide behind the Almighty. 

The Almighty reached behind her, gently taking the angel by his hand and pulling him out from behind her. “Don’t be afraid, Prdzar El. Rafael will keep you safe.” She lifted her hand, resting it against his chest gently as she repeated what she had already told Rafael, “He is yours, as you are his.” 

Then with a kiss to his brow, the Almighty was gone; leaving just the small angel and Rafael alone in the great expanse of space. Time was a thing that didn't make much sense to the angel just yet, as the Lord was still trying to work it out herself, but it still felt as if he'd been standing awkwardly off to the side for quite a while just watching as Rafael fiddled about. It wasn’t until he shuffled and accidentally bumped into a box labeled _Galaxy Stones_ that Rafael finally turned and remembered he was there at all. 

“Oh, right! Sorry! Didn’t catch your name.” He said, moving back over to stand in front of the small angel. 

“I...I haven’t a name, I’m afraid. The Lord...well she never gave me one.” 

Rafael stared in disbelief, jaw slack and eyes wide. Every angel got a name upon their creation. Everything did, actually. It wasn’t like Her to not give something a name. Thinking for a moment, Rafael took a cautious step closer. 

“What does everyone call you, then?”

That pink rose up on his cheeks again, but his eyes cast down and away, a deep sadness hidden within the blue depths. 

“Prdzar El,” he mumbled. “Small One.” 

Well, it was a bit fitting, Rafael hated to admit. Still, it hardly counted as a proper name, and given the way the other seemed to shift and flinch upon saying it, it wasn’t one the angel was particularly fond of. That just wouldn’t do. No one should have to go about without a name. 

“Huh,” huffed Rafael as he moved to swing his arm around hunched shoulders. “Nah, I don’t like that. Think I’ll just call you Angel till you get a proper name, if that’s alright with you.”

“You...you’re just going to call me what I am?”

“Well, why not? Everyone else keeps calling you _Small One,_ which you are. Figure Angel has a bit of a nicer ring to it, don’t you think?” 

The silence hung heavy between them for a moment before Angel nodded slowly. “Yes...I...I suppose it does. Angel.” A smile began to tick across his face as a soft chuckle bubbled up from inside. “Angel. I like it.”

Rafael felt his own chest swell and expand, warmth flowing out of him like a soft blanket to wrap them both up in as he smiled down at Angel. He would think of a true, proper name, for him eventually. Part of Rafael’s job was to think up names. He was creative like that. It’s why the twinkling lights in the distance were called _stars_ and not Balls of Gaseous Light like _some_ angels wanted to call them.

“Good. So, what brings you to these parts, hm? And with a personal escort by the Almighty to boot.”

Angel shrunk into himself once more. 

“I failed at something She had asked me to do. I’m afraid I’m not very good at a great many things. I’m...well, I’m afraid I’m just going to be one of the lower ranks.” He fiddled with his robes and straightened them primly as he sniffled softly. “I suppose I was created to be one of the Almighty’s warriors, but, well...Michael says...”

“Michael’s a wanker.”

Angel’s head shot up, his eyes wide in terror as he glanced around in a frantic search. “You mustn’t say things like that! Someone may hear you!”

Rafael rolled his eyes and pulled his arm away, already starting for his work station again. “Oh, no one’s going to hear me. I’m out here on my own for a reason, you know. Besides, what kind of younger brother would I be if I didn’t think my older siblings were wankers?”

Angel’s eyes widened even more than they’d already been. “You...you’re…” 

Sighing, Rafael paused as a light began to surround him, wings expanding and unfurling into sight as a scepter appeared in his outstretched hand. Everything about him became ten times brighter, a hundred times more powerful. Angel quickly dropped his gaze, cowering away under the gaze of one of the Archangels in their true form. The others never took their true form around him, and he was glad now that he knew how frightening it actually was. And yet, there was something in the back of his head that told him to look up, to meet Rafael’s gaze and to not shrink away in fear. 

“You don’t have to fear me, Angel,” Rafael’s voice was soft and smooth, a calming tone that seemed to cause the stars to twinkle all the brighter. “I am the Archangel Rafael. The Lord has put you in my care, and I will protect you from those who would mean to harm you.” 

As the light faded and Rafael slowly returned to the way he looked when Angel had first appeared, he took a step back towards his work and shrugged again. “Honestly, I don’t like the attention, really. At least not the kind the others get. Let them loft about, thinking they’re above all the rest. I’d rather be just a normal angel. Like everyone else.”

The pair were silent for a while, Angel coming to stand closer to Rafael as he worked at his new creations, a small smile playing on his lips. He didn’t usually have company while he worked. The others would grow bored rather quickly, especially once they realized he was too wrapped up in his work to pay them any attention.

“What are you making?” Angel asked softly, as if he were reluctant to disrupt whatever it was the Archangel was doing. 

“I’m a starmaker. The Almighty put me in charge of creating stars and galaxies and oh, this is a new one I’m workin’ on!” Rafael pauses to hold up the swirling cloud of blue, pink and white -- the one he’d been inspired by Angel to create. “I call it a nebula. What do you think?” 

Wonder crossed Angel’s soft face. He reached out hesitantly as if to touch it before drawing his hand back and shrinking into himself a bit, remembering his place. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me…” 

“No, here,” Rafael reached out, the nebula cupped in his hands, gently setting it in Angel’s palm for him to hold. 

Something warm and tight slithered through him as that same wonder and awe spread across Angel’s face again. This time illuminated by the soft glow coming from his hand. He took a moment to look the smaller angel over a bit more, finding that the warmth he’d felt a moment ago seemed to grow stronger the longer he stared. There was just something about him, something Rafael couldn’t put his finger on.

“This is beautiful,” Angel whispered, his eyes glued to the nebula. “What does it do?”

“Oh, uh…” Right, Rafael hadn’t actually figured out its purpose yet. It had just been fun to make. Shrugging, he reached to take it back, giving it a little spin before setting it down again. “Don’t know, really. I’ll figure something out for it. For now, think I’ll just leave it out there with the rest of the stars. Maybe let it decide for itself what it eventually wants to be.” 

Angel’s smile grew. Head tilted back, he turned in a slow circle, taking in everything around him. There was a mess of materials Rafael hadn’t quite figured out what to do with just yet, but there were also plans scattered about for things called “Planets”. Great spheres of stone he planned to place throughout the universe as viewing stations to see his creations. 

Thinking for a moment, Rafael reached to take Angel’s hand. So soft and small in his own. A stark contrast of shorter, more plump fingers grasped within longer, thinner, rougher fingers. With a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he moved to pull Angel along with him. 

“C’mon, Angel. You can help me, if you want.”

“Help you? With what?”

“With all this! There’s a lot I’ve got to get finished yet, an’ it’d be better with two. Don’t’cha think?”

Angel swallowed hard, his blue eyes cast down to where their fingers intertwined. 

“I’m afraid I’m not very good at creating things,” He murmured, his voice dripping with self-depreciation. “I’m not very good at a great many things.” 

“Oh, c’mon now. You said that earlier, but you know what? You haven’t been around long enough to say that! We’ll find something that’s very much you. Don’t you worry.”

The smile Angel gave in reply was small and didn’t come remotely close to reaching his eyes. With a frown of his own, Rafael gave his hand another tug before launching into the air, wings spread wide and a bright smile shining on his own face. 

“C’mon, Angel!”

“What are you _doing_?”

“Just come with me!” 

Angel gaped and floundered, casting about as if making sure no one watching them. “Go with you where?”

Rafael’s smile grew as he lowered himself back to Angel’s level, holding his hands out for him to take. “Anywhere! Let’s just go. Just us! Wherever we want.” 

He wanted to make Angel smile again. To see it brighten his face, not darken it with self-depreciation. No newborn angel deserved to think so little of themselves so early in their creation.

“But, what about the others? What about-”

“Shh, don’t worry about them. Let’s just go play in the stars.” 

Without giving Angel a moment to think about it, Rafael launched straight up. A laugh bubbled out of him as he watched the shock and horror flash across Angel’s face when he found himself being dragged up along with him. Up and up, faster and faster, soaring through the darkened cosmos, leaving a trail of stardust in his wake. Finally he heard Angel’s sweet laugh and looked back over his shoulder, twirling to watch Angel swoop and weave through the stardust, causing him to glow brighter than he already had before. 

Together they laughed and chased each other through the nebulas and around half formed planets, spinning and twirling each other around in a weightless dance. Rafael’s happiness caused the stars around them to twinkle all the brighter, for a new galaxy to swirl into existence without his help. The brightness of Angel’s smile held all the warmth of a newborn star, and Rafael would find himself lost in the depths of Angel’s unique blue eyes; find himself gravitating closer to him, causing them to revolve around each other like twin stars. 

Somewhere across the universe, a binary star system burst into being. 

~*~*~

Angel leaned back against Rafael’s workbench, watching as he puttered about and wandered from one end of the work area to the other and back again. It was hard to know how long Angel had been keeping Rafael company, since time had not yet been created in any real sense. He just knew he’d been helping where he could and other times just sitting quietly to watch and daydream at any point he wasn’t off having to practice with Michael. Such a bore that was, honestly. He was created to be a warrior, or so the Archangel told him repeatedly, but he didn’t want to be. The sword always felt so heavy and awkward in his hands, his Heavenly shield more of a danger to himself than the sword more times than not. 

The disappointment and frustration Michael showed towards him whenever he couldn’t get a move right stung deep within him. Though, it didn’t sting nearly as bad as the punishment inflicted on him for getting things wrong. His palms still burned after his latest sword practice fiasco. Rafael never got upset with him or disappointed in him if he did something wrong, or accidentally distracted him from his work. 

“Still don’t know why the Almighty needs an army,” Rafael muttered, shaking his head as he plucked a container off a shelf and moving back to where Angel sat on the ground. “What’s the point of having an army, really?” 

“I’ve never asked. I just do as I’m told,” answered Angel with a heavy sigh. His wings were ruffled and in need of a good grooming, but that would have to wait. There wasn’t much he could do at the moment with such sore hands. 

With a frown, Rafael shook his head and gently took one hand in his to rub a balm across the inflamed area. “Blind faith. I’m not so sure about that. Just doesn’t make sense.”

Angel gave a sharp hiss of pain before biting down on his lip to keep from fidgeting. “It...it’s not ours to question, or to understand. You of all angels should know that. You’re an Archangel, after all.” 

Rafael rolled his eyes goodnaturedly and huffed as he continued to work at soothing Angel’s hands. Angel didn’t want to admit that he cautiously wondered the same thing though. There really wasn’t much of a need for an angelic army. They were all creations of the Almighty, born into being to be the embodiment of love. Weren’t they? 

He especially wondered why Michael was always so severe with him during training exercises.

He shook his head quickly, trying desperately to banish the doubt that was creeping in. Another quick gasp escaped him when Rafael blew across both palms and ran his long fingers down them gently before moving to his reddened wrists. 

“So is Michael,” Rafael finally tutted. “And she shouldn’t be using status to inflict cruelty to our younger brethren.”

“She didn’t--”

His words cut off when Rafael’s head snapped up. Fire seemed to flash into Rafael’s dark eyes. “She lashed your hands to your sword and tried to bloody well _melt it_ into your palms. That’s not punishment for a mistake, that’s cruelty. _Abuse_ , even!” 

Angel shrank back against the workbench, wings fluffed and curved in around him as he glanced down and away. He didn’t like being on the receiving end of an Archangel’s ire. Even though Rafael’s anger was misplaced, it still made Angel want to make himself as small as possible. 

When Rafael spoke again, his voice was calm and gentle, the guilt evident in his words. “Angel...oh Angel, I...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound cross at you. Please don’t hide yourself away from me? I promise I’m not cross with you. I just don’t agree with how the others treat you and it makes me upset.” 

Rafael’s fingers gently soothed across the reddened skin of Angel’s wrists and his voice stayed soft and gentle as he stared down at their hands together, warm magic passing through him to erase the marks. “You’re far too good to be treated so poorly. If anyone deserved to be an Archangel, it’s you. All your compassion and joy for everything. You…” his words trailed off for a moment before he looked up again. “You are the kindest angel the Almighty has ever created. I’ve watched you. I’ve seen you help the new angels learn to use their wings. Even when my wanker siblings are nothing but cruel to you, you still smile at them and say hello, offer to help if they need it. Why, if She took all the Love she had for all of us and wrapped it up in one tiny angel, it’d be you.” 

A wetness Angel wasn’t unfamiliar with formed at his eyes. Something tight clenched in his chest as he reached out to lay his newly healed palm against Rafael’s cheek. They stared at each other for several long moments before Rafael finally cleared his throat and looked away. The comfortable tension that had been building up between them snapped like a twig, breaking whatever spell had been cast. 

“Right then,” Rafael coughed, gathering up his balms and containers. “You should be good as new now. Not a smudge on you.”

Angel stared down at his hands in wonder. Truly Rafael had been right. There wasn’t a single sign that he’d been injured at the hands of Michael the Archangel. He sniffled and nodded. “Yes. Quite. Thank you.” 

Rafael simply hummed in acknowledgement. 


	3. Chapter 3

Meetings for the Archangels weren’t an uncommon occurrence. They were held with semi-regularity and were really nothing more than a boasting contest. Comparing wing sizes, if you’d like. They weren’t anything that Rafael particularly enjoyed taking part in. Too much talk and competition between everyone else. He’d much rather just stay at his station and send a report back to them, as he’d done the last thousand times they’d called for a meeting. An order from on high made that impossible this time, though. 

So here Rafael sat, slouched low, idly shifting through his feathers in an absentminded grooming session, listening as Michael and Gabriel bickered back and forth at each other over one thing or another. He’d stopped paying attention the moment Gabriel brought up the fact he was the older of the two and therefore was in charge. In the back of Rafael’s mind, he brought up the image of a soft, small angel with trusting eyes and a kind, shy smile. The most perfect of all of God’s angels, in his opinion. It hadn’t been all that long ago that Rafael had finally put a name to the feelings he had any time Angel came into sight, sat and laughed with him, stared in wonder at Rafael’s newest creation. All those strange stirrings and thoughts that had plagued him for an eon now were carefully sorted, catalouged, and named. 

_Love_.

Not the typical angelic love they were all born into. That they were supposed to feel for one another. Nor was this the love they were meant to feel for the Almighty -- that love was different than the rest too, for an entirely different reason. No, this love was... _different_. It was all encompassing. It was a feeling that washed over him whenever Angel would curl up into his side and play with the swirls of colors Rafael gave him. It poured through him like a song each time they played in the stars, chasing each other from one end of the galaxy to the next and back again. And it made his chest ache with longing any time Angel was forced from his side to go to Michael’s ridiculous training drills. It surged and pulsed hotter than any star he’d ever created. 

Rafael had loved Angel from the moment he saw the Almighty working on him, but that love had grown more powerful the more time they were together. He’d fallen _in love_ with his angel. And just as Angel had a bit of Rafael in him since his creation, so too did Rafael hold the angel within himself. 

The realization hit him smack in the face. A name. He’d thought of a name. A name so perfect it was ridiculous that he hadn’t thought of it sooner. Rafael laughed out loud suddenly, quieting those around him. Dark eyes shone brightly, and a grin stretched across his face, he looked around at the others who appeared less than amused at his outburst. 

“You find this funny, Rafael?” questioned Gabriel, his arms folded over his chest and wings bustling behind him. “I don’t think this is any laughing matter.” 

Confusion crossed Rafael’s face. What wasn’t funny? What had they been going on about? Maybe he should have been paying at least a little bit of attention, after all. 

“Uh...ngk...I…”

“You’re partly to blame for this,” Michael added, her eyes cold as she stared him down. “You spend far too much time with it. Prdzar El is to be a _warrior_ . They weren’t created to help you with your,” Michael trailed off, waving a hand absently out towards the stars around them. “With your _project_. You’re turning them softer than they already were.” 

Dread quickly replaced the light joy that had been fluttering through his stomach. What were they talking about? Why were they talking about his Angel? 

“Stop calling _him_ that.” 

“What?”

Sitting up straighter, Rafael pressed his hands down on his knees, fingers curling into his soft white and golden robes, glittering with the stardust that constantly surrounded him. “Stop. Calling. _Him_. That. It’s not his name. It’s derogatory.” 

Michael shared a glance with Gabriel and scoffed. The two older Archangels moved around the table and over to where Rafael sat. Their movements were slow, calculated, almost predatorial if the Almighty had created anything like a predator, that is. When they reached him, one on either side of him, Rafael felt his wings tighten, draw up closer to his body; though whether out of defensiveness or in preparation for a fight was anyone’s guess. 

“Prdzar El,” Michael drawled, staring down at Rafael with a sneer etched into her face, “is a _warrior of God the Almighty_. They are to be under my command.” 

“That’s right,” added Gabriel smugly. “Your attachment to them is troublesome, Rafael. Didn’t the Almighty sequester you off onto your own for a reason?”

“I saw them holding hands.” 

Rafael spun his head around at the new voice, shrill and annoying in tone. Oh how he hated that sound. At the end of the table, the rotund Sandalphon leaned around the others to glare down at him. 

“They were holding hands and being quite close to each other in a way that is very unbecoming of an Archangel. Especially when directed to a simpleton such as _Prdzar El_.” 

Gases and dust swirled in Rafael’s palm, folding in on itself over and over and over, creating the densest possible object he could. His body ached to hurl it at the smug bastard. More than ever he wished he could throw it, to hit Sandalphon square in the head, watch him tumble over backward and drift off into the nothingness of uncharted space (the area of which Rafael had yet to paint with his galaxies and stars). 

A new feeling tore through him. A complete opposite of what he felt for Angel. It was deep and hot, hollow like nothing else before it. 

_Hatred_. 

A trickle of something slid down his back, though no one else seemed to notice. 

“Rafael, really. You’re an _Archangel_ , for Mother’s sake! You shouldn’t be fraternizing with those beneath you. Especially not one’s Mother hasn’t even deemed worthy of assigning a name or title.” Gabriel’s words were cold, flippant. 

“You’re wrong.” Rafael’s own voice was low, laced with barely contained malice.

Gabriel scoffed and shook his head. He stared at Rafael for a moment in disbelief, “What did you say?”

A fire burned deep in Rafael’s core. He lifted his gaze to settle on Gabriel’s sneering face. What gave him the right to say such things about an angel? About one of their Mother’s children? 

“I said you’re wrong. He’s worth more than a hundred Archangels combined. He’s more worthy than any of us.”

The twins -- as that was what Gabriel and Michael were in reality -- shared a shallow laugh. 

“You forget yourself, little brother.” Michael’s hand snapped out, tangling itself in Rafael’s long hair with a harshness unlike anything he’d ever felt before. “That fool is no more worthy than the dust you’re covered with. You will go back to your precious runt and spurn them. Turn them away and have them report to training as they’re meant to.” 

Rafael clenched his jaw, refusing to show pain at his hair being yanked. The anger and defiance at Michael’s order to stay away from Angel, he couldn’t hide. It shone bright in his eyes. He couldn’t push Angel away. He just couldn’t. He loved him. Completely and irrevocably. Somewhere deep inside him, he felt that they were two halves of the same whole, and to separate them now would surely destroy them. 

Gabriel leaned in as if sensing Rafael’s urge to refuse. His mouth near Rafael’s ear, his breath rustled the hair that hung loose around his shoulders. “Disobedience is a _sin_ , brother. To disobey is to go against Mother. We both know what happens when you go against Her, don’t we? You don’t want to _Fall_ , do you?”

The rage within him vanished in an instant. Replaced instead with cold fear. He’d seen the first few fall. Lucifer had been one of his few confidants. The only one of his brothers that Rafael felt any sort of connection with. He’d looked up to him and his friends and it tore at him to see the pain and anguish that painted Lucifer’s face as he tumbled backwards, hurtling away from them, glowing white wings burning to a deep void of darkness. No. No, as much as Rafael missed his oldest brother, he didn't particularly want to join him. 

Gabriel took Rafael’s silence for what it was; a reluctant agreement. He clapped loudly above Rafael’s head as Michael released their hold on his hair, both stepping away from him as if nothing had happened. 

“Good! Now then, since we have that settled. Sandalphon? Why don’t you tell us all about what you and Uriel have been working on?”

Slumped low in his seat again, wings hanging limp around him in defeat, Rafael tuned the rest of them out yet again. He never asked to be an Archangel. Why couldn’t he have been just an ordinary angel, like his own was? Simple, plain, unremarkable…

Except, his Angel wasn’t any of those things. Was he? He was beautiful and perfect in every single way. The Almighty had put Angel into his care. _His_. No one else's. Rafael was determined to keep his angel safe. No matter what happened to him because of it.

~*~*~ 

“Rafael!” Angel called, spinning in a circle in the middle of the work space. A scroll was clutched tightly in his hands. It was similar to the one the Almighty had entrusted him to watch so long ago, with one significant difference. This scroll held two sigils on it that Angel didn’t recognize. Though, being a warrior angel, he was only required to know the different sigils for protection, strength, and divinity. The things he’d need to smite the so-called “enemy” with. 

Stopping his rotation, Angel furrowed his brow in confusion, calling out again, “Rafael? Where are you?” 

“I’m here, Angel,” 

Angel spun around again, his frown transformed into a bright smile. Warmth washed over him once Rafael stepped into sight. The long waves of red hair that Angel admired so much was pulled back into a harsh style that he’d never seen before. It looked a bit painful, honestly, and he couldn’t understand why Rafael would want to have it all tightly confined as he did. And the light that normal shone so brightly in his dark eyes was faded and dim. 

Scroll forgotten, Angel stepped beside him and entwined their fingers. They had taken to doing that every time they were together now and Angel had to admit he enjoyed it immensely. When Rafael pulled his hand free though without so much as a glance in his direction, Angel worried he’d made a mess of things. Again. 

“Are you alright, dear?” Angel worried at his lip, hands clutching the scroll tight to his chest. “Did I...I didn’t do anything wrong. Did I?”

Rafael turned from his place at his work bench, his own fingers gripping the edge of it hard enough that it had to be hurting him. 

“No,” he answered, shaking his head and looking away again. “No, you didn’t do anything, Angel. I just…”

“What is it, then? What’s wrong?”

Silence hung in the air between them, heavy and solid as could be. Angel wanted to reach out for his hand again, to touch him and be touched in return, to know that whatever was wrong it truly wasn’t his fault. He just couldn’t bear to have Rafael pull away from him again, though. 

When it seemed as though he wasn’t going to get an answer, Rafael finally spoke. 

“What’s that you have there?”

Angel looked up then, aware that Rafael had deftly changed the subject and decided it best to simply let him. The scroll sat heavy in his hands. Fingers itching to explore each and every intricate sigil written across its outside. To know what was on the inside.

“Oh!” His bright smile in place again, he rushed to Rafael’s side and set it down in front of him. “Mother gave it to me! I brought it straight here this time! Didn’t dally, not for a _moment_ ! I brought it straight here to share it with you and I knew that if Mother had entrusted me to keep it safe for her, then the only place to go was here. The safest place I know. I had to share it with you, I simply _had to_! Look at how beautiful it is, Rafael!” 

He bubbled with excitement, could feel it pouring out of him with ease as he turned it over in his hands again and again. Examining it one way, then another, before looking up to Rafael for approval. 

“Isn’t it beautiful, my dear?”

“Yes,” whispered Rafael, “beautiful.” 

His eyes weren’t on the scroll though. They were locked onto Angel’s face. A look that caused his inside to swoop, as if he’d been out flying and playing in the stars again. Something new was hidden in Rafael’s eyes; something Angel didn’t quite know what to make of. It wasn’t like the looks that Michael gave him, all cold and demanding, harsh, unkind and unrelenting; the kind of look that made him cower and look away, try to make himself as small as possible. This wasn’t anything like that. This was hot, dark but not in a frightening way. If anything it made him feel warmer just having it directed at him. It made him feel safe. 

So why had he suddenly begun to shift from foot to foot, his own attention cast down to his hands and the scroll? 

“It...uh...it...h-has these sigils here, see?” He stammered, his voice wobbly. “I don’t know what they mean, though. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them before. Do you...can you…” 

The scroll pulled free of his hands as Rafael placed it on the bench in front of them. Angel could still feel the intensity of his stare, though, even as Rafael’s smooth voice read the sigils aloud. 

“This is my name,” he said, running is finger over the first one. One that looked like the spear Rafael had held that first time they met, with some kind of swiggle wrapped around it. The next one looked similar, so very similar it was almost impossible to tell them apart. “This is yours.”

Angel’s head shot up at that, eyes wide and mouth agape. 

“Mine?” He squeaked. “But, that’s not the sigil for angel! I know that one, and that is most definitely _not_ it. It...it looks the same as yours!”

Rafael nodded. The scroll on the bench forgotten as he turned his full attention onto Angel. That look was back in his eyes again, or maybe it had never left. It didn’t matter. Rafael’s gaze was pinned on him, piercing down to his very core and...and when had he backed Angel up against the transparent wall behind them? When had he gotten so close that Angel could count each and every speck of stardust that painted across his nose and cheeks? Tiny constellations all of their own creation. 

“Angel…” the name was whispered on the back of a sigh. It was enough to make his wings flutter weakly. 

“Angel, I want to Name you. Can I...I mean...Will you Join with me?”

If time were anything more than just a theory the Almighty was still considering, it surely would have frozen right then. If they knew how to breathe, Angel would have stopped and quite possibly never start again. For two angels to join was perhaps the most sacred thing to happen. It was rare, so rare that Angel only knew of it from stories he’d heard. There had been a rumor he’d heard once, that Michael had joined with Lahadriel long before he Fell, though he’d never been able to confirm that one. 

“J-Join with you?”

“Yes. Please, Angel? I want to Know you. I want to be a part of you, to Name you.” Rafael’s hands clasped Angel’s, placing them on his chest. “I want you to be a part of me. For us to be together as One. Always.”

Angel’s wings fluttered against the wall causing a shiver to run down his back. He stared up into Rafael’s eyes, losing himself there among the stars and want and hope and…

He gasped softly. _Love_. So much of it! It radiated out of Rafael and wrapped around him so completely. Something so right that he found himself nodding wordlessly. 

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, I...of course, I will. I...oh Rafael, I would love nothing more to Join with you.” 

Between one beat of a wing and the next, Rafael’s mouth was on his, pulling him in closer as their wings wrapped around them. Angel gasped and opened himself up to Rafael, letting his own love and essence rush out of him like a flood, crashing into the same love pouring from Rafael. Their essence became as one, no clear line to say where one of them stopped and the other began. It was love in its purest form. Binding them together, a bit of Angel mixing amongst the sea that was Rafael’s very being. With each wave, a bit more of him washed away, replaced with the pieces Rafael left behind in him. 

Their wings rustled and ruffled around them, keeping them hidden, keeping them safe from prying eyes. The stardust that sparkled on Rafael’s wings now sparkled on Angel’s, marking him as the Archangel’s. Tangible proof that he was worthy of having the attention of one so much higher than him. Of being loved by one of the Almighty’s reverent few. 

Taken. 

Chosen. 

Accepted. 

Claimed.

“ _Aziraphael…”_

_Named_.

Aziraphael shuddered, a quiet sob of joy bursting from him at Rafael’s true angelic voice granting upon him a name of his own. Aziraphael. _Of Rafael._ They were truly one now. Aziraphael had been created with the Archangel already being a part of him. He had come from stardust and wonder. He _was_ of Rafael. 

“Oooohh…” the word tumbled over his lips as a pleasure he’d never known before washed over him, his name whispered over and over in his ear as he sobbed out Rafael’s in return. 

When the stars stopped colliding and they found themselves back within their own respected beings, Aziraphael clung to his partner’s neck, face buried and soft, joyful sobs dampening Rafael’s robes. 

“You’re okay, Aziraphael. I have you. I have you, my angel.” 

He clutched Rafael all the tighter, trembling from the love he felt coursing within him, feeling Rafael there inside him, brushing alongside his own essence like the same soothing balm he’d used to heal Aziraphael’s hands and wrists. 

It took several more moments of Rafael murmuring reassurance into his ear before Aziraphael’s wings finally unfurled from around them, followed by Rafael’s, and they parted enough to look at each other. Nothing seemed to have changed, except for the shimmer now glinting off Aziraphael’s wings whenever they moved. They knew, though. They felt it. Everything had changed. 

“No matter what happens,” Rafael murmured, bringing his hand to rest on Aziraphael’s cheek, thumbing under his eye gently, “I’ll be with you and you’ll be with me. You are mine, as I am yours. Always.”

The words seemed to hang in the air around them. Words the Almighty had said to them the day she left him in Rafael’s care. 

_“He is yours, as you are his.”_

He didn’t know why exactly Rafael made it sound as if something would try to come between them, but it didn’t matter. Nothing could now. 

“You are mine,” He repeated the words quietly but with a determined sort of commitment behind them. “As I am yours. _Always_.” 

A weight seemed to suddenly lift off of Rafael’s shoulders, causing him to gasp out a quiet sob and pull Aziraphael back into a tight hold. He didn’t know what exactly was going on, or what had caused Rafael to behave like he was. It scared him, if truth be told. Something was clearly wrong and Rafael did not plan to tell him about it. Whatever ‘it’ was. 

Aziraphael felt warm lips brush over his cheek and neck, along his jaw until they were right up against his ear. It sent shivers and tingles all through him, making him burrow into Rafael’s strong arms all the more. Being held wasn’t something many angels indulged in, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why not. It felt warm and safe to be held by someone who loved you. It felt right, so very right. The way Rafael tucked Aziraphael under his chin, kissing across soft curls, how Aziraphael could press his nose into the crook of his beloved’s neck, it was like God had designed them as the perfect matching pieces. Slotting together just right to create a whole being. 

“Angel,” Rafael sighed, dipping his head to bury his face in Aziraphael’s shoulder. “Oh, Angel. Run away with me?”

Aziraphael huffed a soft laugh. “Run away with you? Rafael, my dear, what are you talking about? Where would we go?”

“Doesn’t matter where. Lots of other galaxies out there, lots of planets. We could...we could live on a planet. Just the two of us.” 

Fear had started to creep back into Aziraphael, and he pulled back just enough to meet Rafael’s eyes. “I...you aren’t making any sense. I don’t understand.” 

Pain and sadness stared back at him. A pain so deep on Rafael’s face that he felt it down to his very core. When Rafael opened his mouth to talk, the words he said cut like one of Michael’s swords straight through him. 

“I had to meet with the other Archangel’s. They said...they said you _have_ to train with Michael. You have to. And that means,” he paused to collect his words carefully before continuing. “That means, we have to be apart from each other. Probably for quite a while. Michael and Gabriel told me you have to become one of the soldiers.” 

Aziraphael jerked back at that, eyes wide with disbelief. He didn’t _want_ to be a soldier. Not ever. There wasn’t much that he knew how to do instead, but he did know what he wanted and being dumped into the middle of a pointless army was not it. He shook his head, stumbling backwards out of Rafael’s arms. 

“No,” the protest was barely more than a whisper before Aziraphael shook his head in greater determination. “No. No, I refuse. I’m not a _soldier_! We both know that!” 

Rafael stepped forward, taking hold of Aziraphael’s hand. “Angel. You have to. I don’t want you to fall because of…” he trailed off, struggling to keep himself from getting worked up. “If you disobey them, they’ll run straight to the Almighty, and then what? Hm? I couldn’t bear to see you fall for disobeying an order from them. Please, Angel, I’m begging you.”

“I don’t understand,” the tears ran down Aziraphael’s cheeks as he stared up at the Archangel in front of him. “What about...about us? What about what we just did?! How could you push me away now? After what we are now!”

“We can still be together--”

“When?” Aziraphael sobbed, yanking his hand down and away from the one that was holding his. “When, exactly? Michael would never allow me to leave, not now. Not after all the times I came here to you instead of going to them for training!”

Pain tore through him, sharp and hot. 

“Aziraphael, listen to me, please? We’re Joined now! Nothing can keep us apart, not really, not for always. We…” Rafael turned around, grumbling in frustration. “We literally just swore that to each other! You’re a part of me. I’m a part of you. How does that not seem to matter to you?”

“Not matter!? It means more to me than anything else ever could! That’s why I don’t understand why you are suddenly telling me I have to leave!”

The two stood stock still, eyes locked and bodies tense. A face off between a soft but stubborn young angel and the Archangel who only wanted to keep him safe from all harm. Especially the risk of falling. Neither of them spoke. Aziraphael didn’t think he could trust himself to talk anymore, not without making an even bigger scene. He’d been so happy only moments ago. It felt like now he’d never know happiness ever again. 

When Rafael finally turned his head, eyes cast away from him, Aziraphael felt betrayed. 

“I don’t want you to become a soldier,” Rafael muttered, “but I also don’t want to see you Fall. Please, Angel.”

Aziraphael didn’t know what heartbreak was, didn’t know how it felt, he didn’t even know what a heart was really, but he assumed it was a horrible thing. The pain he felt crushed him under its weight. 

“You know what they _did_ to me though. I’m _begging_ you _,_ Rafael. Please don’t make me go back to training with them.” 

The images of Gabriel and Michael taking turns punching and kicking him still flashed before his eyes when he least expected it. Michael lashing his hands to his sword hilt and having it heat enough to burn his palms. Uriel’s sneers whenever he dared cross her path, followed promptly by Sandalphon’s smug look of superiority and contempt. The other Archangel’s hated him, and Aziraphael had never figured out why. He’d only learned to keep as far away from them as he could. 

“It’s not up to me, Angel. If it were, you and I would be running away together --”

“We can’t leave! We’ve nowhere to go!”

“I _know_ that!” Rafael’s head snapped back around, a flash of fire flickering in his eyes before settling again. “I _know_. And I know you’d never want to leave Mother. That’s why I’m pleading with you. Go back to training and I will find a way for us to still be together. You have my word. You’re mine, Aziraphael. You always will be.” 

Tears streaked down Aziraphael’s cheeks, welling up to glitter in his eyes. He fought to keep the rest of them from falling, only to fail miserably once Rafael reached to wipe them away. The sad smile that was directed towards him did nothing to help. 

“Please, my Angel? Go and train. Learn how to protect yourself, so that way the next time they try to get the jump on you, maybe you’ll be able to give them a good wallop of your own. You don’t have to learn to be a fighter. Learn to be a protector. Can you do that for me?”

Aziraphael sniffled pathetically as he leaned his cheek into Rafael’s palm. “But...who’s going to keep you company while you’re making stars?”

Rafael waved the question off with an air of false bravado. It was obvious how nonchalant he was trying so hard to be, despite not feeling it at all. “Bah...don’t worry about me, Angel. I’ll be fine.”

“On your own?” hiccuped Aziraphael. 

A silent nod was the only response Rafael gave, though he looked like he desperately wanted to say something else. It was enough to bring more tears to Aziraphael’s eyes. He didn’t like the thought of Rafael being on his own; he especially didn’t like it now that they were Joined. It felt like a cruel punishment, not just for him but for them both. Being told he had to leave might as well have been as cruel as making him Fall. 

Rafael leaned down to capture his lips in a soft kiss. So soft and warm and full of promises. The promise of them being together once all this soldier nonsense was settled and they could proudly announce themselves to the other angels. The Lord already knew, obviously, but they would walk hand in hand to stand before her, proclaiming their Joining and vows to each other. 

They would be together again. It was just a matter of time. 


	4. Chapter 4

Rafael had kept a close eye on the training grounds. He wasn’t overly fond of the thought of the angels down there training for whatever reasons Michael claimed to have. A war, they said, was brewing. Rafael didn’t know about that, especially since there wasn’t anyone for them to fight against. It wasn’t like Lucifer had some grand army he had taken down with him when he fell. So who were they preparing to fight? 

He watched, though. Watched as Michael took his beloved to task time and time again. Every blow they delivered onto him, Rafael felt. Each time they made Aziraphale work to a point of collapse, he wanted to reach out and inflict the same kind of punishment onto them. Aziraphael was no soldier, he wasn’t a fighter, but slowly -- oh so painfully slowly -- he had become a protector. He learned to defend himself against Michael’s attacks, and the others, both on and off the training grounds. It had been all Rafael had asked of him. 

Of course, he felt a swell of pride whenever he found Aziraphael hiding away on his own, struggling to perfect the sword he’d been issued. Rafael stayed hidden away, watching without being seen, silently cheering him on, and before long, watching in awe as each step Aziraphael took looked like an elegant dance. The steady way he held the sword and followed through with every movement. His confidence radiated off of him for the first time since Rafael had sent him away. It was mesmerizing.  _ Aziraphael _ was mesmerizing. 

That little angel the Almighty had brought to him to look after and protect had been moved up the ranks to Principality and Rafael beamed with pride. 

Still, Rafael couldn’t help but wonder what the point of it all was. What good was a Heavenly army when there was no one to fight? Were they planning to go and attack Lucifer and his following? Wouldn’t that make them just as wicked as the Fallen had been accused of being? Was there a point to creating the cosmos if God hadn’t intended to do anything with them? 

So many questions had begun to swirl in Rafael’s mind and he struggled to keep his doubt hidden from the others. Every so often he’d feel a cold tendrel slither down between his wings when he’d see Michael using excessive force against his angel. Felt it coil around him and tighten any time his siblings belittled Aziraphael. 

Aziraphael had been away from him for far too long. Their connection to each other was still strong, but Rafael missed hearing that light laugh, the sight of that little snub nose scrunching with happiness as he wiggled in place. He longed to hear Aziraphael tell him wonderful tales that sounded too impossible to be true. There was an empty spot at his work bench, kept clear of clutter and scraps, waiting for its occupant to return and settle there like they’d never left. 

Whispers had started to form in the back of his mind the longer he worked in solitude. Doubting words tumbling around inside his head, drawing him away from his work. What was the point? No one but his angel could appreciate the beauty of what he’d created. Soon, not even Aziraphael would be able to appreciate it. Michael never gave him the time to. Soon, his beloved sweet Angel would be in charge of his own platoon and would be the one putting other angels to work with drills and training. The sweetness would be gone. 

Maybe falling would have been kinder after all.

Maybe, Rafael thought dully to himself,  _ he _ should just fall. Let himself tumble and crash. Surely to become one of the Fallen would be less painful than watching Aziraphael be moulded into the perfect, proper little soldier. Not even bothering to ask how high when Michael or Gabriel barked at him to jump. 

The tendrel tightened around him more. 

The whispers hissing in his ear, calling to him sweetly, like a siren’s song. 

That mad little voice saying, “ _ Go on, go on, go on. Go over, go on. _ ”

~*~*~

The battle raged around him. Where so many demons had come from, he didn’t know, but they were herenow. Tearing down the gates of Heaven, ripping through the Hosts like they were nothing but clouds. Rafael did what he could to help heal those who didn’t simply parish from their wounds. He was only one Healer though, he wouldn’t be able to save them all. In truth, he didn’t  _ want _ to save them all. 

The only one he wanted to save was Aziraphael. If he could just find the blasted Principality! Screams echoed and swords clashed, sending lightning skittering over their heads. Angels on their knees, a demonic dagger pressed to their throats, given the choice of joining the Fallen or true death. Rafael watched as so many chose true death. 

_ Death before dishonor _ . 

Rafael didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to become a demon, though, either. Not really. He just wanted to be left alone with his angel. The other half of his angelic soul. Why was that too much to ask? 

So many angels cried out for his help, begging to be healed so that they could rejoin the Good Fight against the forces of Evil. What  _ was _ evil, anyway? Who decided what was or wasn’t evil? Was it the Almighty? If it was, why hadn’t she stopped this from happening? Had she finally turned her back on them? She was busy, of course he knew that, but surely they were making enough noise for her to hear and do something about it! Instead, angels and demons slaughtered each other in droves, driven to destruction. 

“Rafael!” 

The voice carried over the noise. Suddenly it felt like a weight had been lifted that Rafael didn’t know he’d been carrying. His angel was safe. He was there in front of him, bright curls stained an unnatural red and clumped in damp tufts. Blood. Demon blood. Dark red and thick as anything. Putrid smelling and sizzling against such a holy creature. Rafael miracled it all away until the angel that stood before him was just as clean and innocent looking as he’d remembered. 

“Angel!” Rafael called, yanking Aziraphael in tight to his chest. Nose buried in those feathery curls he adored so much. “Angel, oh thank you, Mother! Thank you! You’re alright. I couldn’t find you. I thought you...that they…”

Aziraphael pulled back from the grasp, a crooked little smile curling the corner of his mouth upwards. “Oh, my dear. You told me to learn how to be a protector. To learn to defend myself. I’ve only been doing what you told me to do.” 

A laugh bubbled out of him, loud with shocked disbelief. His timid little angel had developed a rather cocky streak. It looked good on him. 

“We’ve got to get out of here.” Rafael grasped his hand, yanking him off away from the front lines. “We’ve got to leave. It’s not safe here.” 

Surprised, Aziraphael stumbled behind him a few steps before pulling his hand away. His eyes wide as he protested. “Leave? Rafael, we can’t  _ leave _ ! We’re needed.  _ Here _ . We have to protect Heaven from Lucifer and his army of darkness.”

Rafael pulled up short. How could Aziraphael actually be saying they needed to stay and fight? The angel hadn’t wanted to become a fighter in the first place! Now he demanded they stay and risk true death? And for what? For bragging rights when all was said and done? To be able to strut around, nose in the air, pretending to be better than anyone else? That wasn’t his Angel. That was Michael’s influence. 

The coils of heat so hot it was cold inside him twisted tighter. Tugging at him. The whispers telling him he asked too many questions. He wasn’t supposed to have so much doubt within him. Not as an Archangel. He was supposed to trust the Lord completely. 

“Angel, listen to yourself! Look around! Everyone else is falling or dying. If we stay here, there won’t  _ be _ a Heaven left to protect!” 

A new feeling had settled in along with the coils. Panic, hysteria, terror. Things an Archangel shouldn’t be able to feel and yet were surging through him at a startling rate. 

“The Almighty will protect us,” Aziraphael’s voice sounded so sure even as his eyes darted to take in the scene around them. “She will. We must have faith and trust in Her. That she will --”

“That She will, what?  _ She’s _ not going to do  _ anything _ ! She’s got a big Do Not Disturb sign on her door and won’t come out!” 

Rafael knew this first hand. He’d gone running for her as soon as Lucifer appeared at the gates, his army rallying behind him. Rafael had run and begged and pleaded. Crying out for help against the opposing forces. But no one had answered. No one was there. The Almighty had turned her back on her first children and lost herself in the creation of something else. Something new. Rafael had seen the plans once. Had asked about them. Why she insisted on creating this Sol system on her own instead of letting him do it. 

The coil had yanked him hard at that. The look of sadness on the Almighty’s face as she stared at him settled like a weight in his belly. “ _ Oh…” _ she sighed, “ _ It’s time, isn’t it? Leave me, Rafael. Do not return. The Plan has already begun.” _

He wanted to scream, to sob,  _ demand _ to know what that meant. Instead, he found himself promptly on his wings outside her sanctuary, unable to get near the door again. Banished from her side. Not even the desperate pleas from millions of angels was enough to bring her out of hiding. 

Now the battle was in full swing, and their creator, their  _ Mother _ , was nowhere to be found. She was allowing this to happen. In that moment, Rafael had never hated anyone more than he did her. 

_ “Go down, go down, go down, go down, _ ” the voice chanted, wrapping around him. There was an urge inside him. Something cold and unknown. It wasn’t an urge to jump, per say. To see if he could reach from one of his stars to the next. It was something deeper than that. Something more. 

It was the urge to Fall. 

A sharp gasp tore through him, bringing him to his knees. The warmth of Her love that once was a constant comfort to him vanished in an instant. That frozen heat he’d felt earlier took its place, burning him from the inside out. Voices shouted around him, their words garbled and unclear in his ears. The bond he’d shared with Aziraphael strained and twisted, fraying in the middle as it prepared to snap. Another sob echoed around him, this one both right on top of him but a million galaxies away. 

Aziraphael was hurt, he could feel it. He had to save his angel. No matter what. It was the only thing Rafael had left in him. Keep his angel safe, protect him from those who would mean to harm him. Save him. Save him. 

Save him. 

“Aziraphael,” the name burned in his throat, ripping a scream from him again. Desperate, he tried again. “Aziraph--AH!”

Burning sulfur choked him, but still he fought and scrambled to reach his angel. There was no blood, though. No sign of any injury. So why was Aziraphael writhing in pain, tears clinging to the corners of his clenched shut eyes? 

“You’re hurting him,” an oily voice purred behind him. 

Turning, he scrambled back. One of Lucifer’s henchmen stood behind him. It took Rafael a moment to recognize the creature there. Habrael, now a demon known as Hastur, stood over him, grinning a terrible grin. Eyes that once had been as green as anything were pure black. Vacant orbs settled into a face twisted with pain and boils. 

“Ask Ligur how it feels to have a Join ripped apart,” he snarled, his voice rough and low. “The pain is decent fuel for hatred.” 

The stench of decay was rancid around the Duke of Hell. This was it. It was over for him. No more stars, no more nebulas; no more chasing his Angel through the spaces in between. No more Angel. Not for him, at least. 

“Leave him alone. Do what you want to me, but leave him alone.”

The grin Hastur had twitched and curled, like it was trying to morph into a real smile but didn’t quite remember how it went. It looked like a grimace, instead. Leaning down, he grabbed the once Archangel by the front of his robes, the pristine white charring into a deep grey, starting where Hastur’s fist was curled into the fabric and working its way outward. Hastur hauled him to his feet and yanked him in. foul breath wisping across his face. 

“Oh, he’s not the one we want,” Hastur said. “But it is nice to watch an Archangel squirm and crawl to get to a pathetic Principality like that. Maybe if you crawl some more, you’ll be able to reach him. Someday.” 

Something like glee glittered in Hastur’s eyes as he tilted his head, watching Aziraphael sob and curl up on himself. It hurt to see his beloved in so much pain. He’d promised Aziraphael. He’d promised that no matter what, they’d be together. They were a part of each other. Joined together with the purest intent. He would cling to that for all his worth. Bury the pieces of his angel he had inside him deep, so deep the forces of Hell would never be able to sense them. They’d be there, though. Those bits of goodness, of laughter. He’d keep them safe until he could find a way for them to be together again. 

“Too bad you named him after yourself.” Hastur’s stare returned to his, the grimace cruel and calculating. “You’ll never be able to call for him again. Pity.”

Terror choked him worse than Hastur’s stench ever could. How could he be so selfish? So prideful as to name the one he loved after himself. It was a wonder he hadn’t fallen sooner for all the things he’d done and said.

_ Aziraphael! Aziraphale! I Name you! I name you Aziraphale! Please! Please! Aziraphale!!  _

He fought with everything he had, praying harder than he ever had before, that their fragile bond was still intact enough for him to push one last miracle onto his angel. The words repeated in his soul over and over and over again, even as Hastur lurched him forward and snarled into his ear. 

“Isn’t it a pity?  _ Crawley … _ ”

In the beat of a wing, Rafael the Archangel had fallen from Grace. 

In his place, Crawley the Serpent had risen.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PART TWO.  
> CHAPTER FIVE.
> 
> In which a demon and an angel meet on a wall in an empty garden.  
> And we learn there might be more to the demon than meets the eye

**CHAPTER FIVE**

“Well. That went down like a lead balloon,” muttered Crawley as he shifted from his serpent form into a more male-presenting-human looking one. To match the angel that stood next to him on the wall of Eden. 

Well, not to match him exactly. The angel was all soft and white and fretting away nervously, while Crawley was lean and angles and vague indifference. Still, he matched in that they were both male presenting, had wings, and were watching as Adam and Eve wandered away from their garden of paradise. 

The angel huffed a small laugh before stuttering, “Sorry, what was that?”

Crawley turned his head, the warm breeze rustling through his long hair. Far longer than he generally cared for, but, well, it was all the rage down in Hell. Or had it been a bit of rebellion against Hell by keeping it the length it was when he Fell? He couldn’t remember. Not that it mattered. 

“I said, ‘Well that went down like a lead balloon.’”

“Yes. Yes,” the angel answered, nodding in agreement before turning his attention back out ahead of him. “It did, rather.” 

Crawley’s eyes stayed locked on the angel next to him. Unable to look away. Something tugged inside him, pulling him into orbit around this nervous creature. Something about him was so familiar. Something screamed for Crawley to remember what it was. To reach out and grasp it, hold it tight and don’t let go for anything. He pushed those ridiculous thoughts from his head and frowned. 

“Bit of an overreaction if you ask me. First offence and everything.” He paused to collect his thoughts before continuing, voice soft but confused. “I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway.” 

The angel fretted and stammered softly, a crease forming between his brows. “Well, it must _be_ bad…”

“Crawley,” he filled the obvious pause with an air of polite introduction. Lord Satan, if Hell found out he was being polite with an angel, they’d lock him in the deepest circle for good. 

“Crawley. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have tempted them into it.” 

Crawley almost felt bad for the poor angel. He seemed so uncomfortable having a demon standing next to him, conversing with him like it was the most natural thing ever. Though, he had to admit, he’d tasted the angel’s distress half way across the garden. It was what had him slithering through the tall grasses and up the wall to stand next to him. The poor thing was uncomfortable enough all on his own. He hadn’t needed a demon appearing next to him to cause that. Though, admittedly, it didn’t seem to be helping things either. 

He tried to be as docile as possible as he swayed and turned his gaze back out across the desert. The feel of crystalline eyes boring into him.

“Oh, they just said, ‘Get up there and make some trouble.’”

“Well, obviously. You’re a demon. It’s what you do.” There was a tone to the angel’s voice, something not quite right that was nearly impossible to put a finger on. The words sounded rehearsed. Like they had been drilled into him right from the start. 

Crawley ignored it, choosing instead to change the subject back to something safer. “Not very subtle of the Almighty, though. Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a big ‘Don’t Touch’ sign. Why not,” he stammered awkwardly, “put it on top of a high mountain? Or on the moon?” 

Something tugged inside of him again. He’d always been fond of the moon. Of the night time in general, honestly. Though he never knew why. 

“Makes you wonder what God’s really planning.” 

That got a reaction out of the angel. Though, not exactly a good one. His tone had an edge to it suddenly as he frowned over his shoulder at Crawley. 

“Best not to speculate. It’s all part of the Great Plan. It’s not for us to understand,” he paused before continuing, looking more than just a bit pleased with himself. “It’s ineffable.”

“The Great Plan’s ineffable?” 

“Exactly,” the angel’s wings rustled primly as he straightened his back and lifted his chin. “It is beyond understanding...” 

Already bored with the conversation, Crawley turned his attention to looking the angel over. It felt right to be standing there next to him, for some reason. Almost enough to make him feel whole again. Like that chasm inside him wasn’t quite as deep and dark and desolate as it had always felt. Something was off though. The angel was missing something, he was sure of it. Something that never really seemed to suit him, to begin with. 

“...and incapable of being put into words.”

“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” asked Crawley as he finally realized what was missing. 

The smug superiority the so called Guardian of the Easten Gate suddenly vanished, replaced with the nervous energy of before. He looked away quickly, eyes darting every which way as he struggled to think of an answer. 

“You _did_. It was flaming like anything. What happened to it?”

“Uh…”

Crawley smirked teasingly. “Lost it already, have you?” 

“Gaveitaway.” 

The words were said so quickly and so softly Crawley wasn’t sure he’d even heard them right. Not possible, it couldn’t be possible. 

“You _what?”_

“I gave it away!” wailed the angel, nearly on the brink of tears over his actions.

While Crawley felt a stronger tug pull at him, eyes wide and a dopey smile on his face, the angel hurried to explain himself. 

“There are vicious animals. It’s going to be cold out there. And she’s _expecting_ already! And I said, ‘Here you go. Flaming sword. Don’t thank me. And don’t let the sun go down on you here.’” 

A piece suddenly snapped into place in Crawley’s mind. This angel was a protector. He was nervous and awkward and just wanted to protect Adam and Eve since they couldn’t protect themselves. He wanted to make sure they had something to defend themselves with. It had been an age since Crawley had been an angel, he barely remembered what it had been like to be one, but he remembered soft white curls, a smile brighter than any star in the sky. An angel who never wanted to be a soldier. As quickly as the piece snapped into place, it fizzled and burned out, leaving a dull pain radiating behind his eyes instead.

It was his turn to shift awkwardly in place for a change.

“Oh,” worried the angel, “I do hope I did the right thing.”

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Crawley tried for reassurance. “Aw, you’re an angel. I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.” 

A weight visibly lifted off the other’s shoulders, brightness returning to his eyes as he smiled gratefully. “Oh, oh! Thank...oh thank you! It’s been bothering me.” 

They both turned their attention back out to the desert. Adam was pushing Eve back and away from him as a lion -- that they had undoubtedly curled up with every night to sleep against -- pawed and snarled at them. Ready to make them its next meal. 

“I’ve been worrying, too.” Crawley finally admitted. He looked back to the angel and frowned. “What if I did the right thing with the whole ‘eat the apple’ business? A demon could get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing.”

The angel’s face paled as he watched Adam use the flaming sword he’d been given to finally slay the lion. At least they’d have something to eat for awhile. And a fire to heat it over, at that. They could even use the fur as a blanket to wrap their child in once it was born. Providing they figured out how to do all that, of course. 

Thunder rumbled over their heads and Crawley did his best not to flinch at the sound. It was too much like the sound of war, the great battle between Heaven and Hell. It reminded him too much of his Fall. 

“Be funny if we both got it wrong, eh?” He asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking as he forced a weak smile to his face. “If I did the good thing and you did the bad one.” 

A nervous chuckle of his own bubbled out of him as he watched the angel do the same. It was a nice laugh, almost a giggle that had Crawley longing to hear it again. Aching to see him smile brightly and scrunch his little snub nose up and wiggle happily…

...where had that image come from?

Abruptly, the angel stopped laughing and looked stricken with fear. “No! It wouldn’t be funny at all!” 

Crawley shrugged and muttered under his breath but dropped it just the same. It had only been a joke. The angel didn’t have to get all uppity about it. With a heavy sigh, he watched Adam take Eve’s hand to lead her away from the lion, now motionless on the sand. They’re going to regret doing that. He was sure of it. 

Another rumble of thunder rolled. Clouds turned the sky dark right before their eyes as pellets of water began dropping down around them. Crawley flinched then, and without thinking about it, shifted closer to the smaller angel. If the Almighty had planned to kill them with the holy water falling from the sky, Crawley wanted the last thing he saw to be a friendly face. He moved closer and ducked down slightly when a pure white wing unfurled and rose to cover him, protecting him from...whatever it was. It was cold, but so far, it didn’t burn. It tickled against his toes as puddles formed around them, and it was only then that Crawley realized the angel himself wasn’t protected. 

That ache from before was back. Itching at him, clawing at him, desperate to make him listen. He found himself wanting to pull this silly little angel into his arms, raise both of his black wings, and keep them both sheltered and dry from the storm. That wouldn’t happen though. _Couldn’t_ happen. The angel was still nervous being so close to a demon, even though neither of them had made any attempt to end the other upon sight. They both had had chances, but chose instead to make small talk. 

“I nearly forgot,” Crawley finally drawled, turning his head to look at the angel close up. “I never asked your name.” 

Another small smile crossed the angel’s face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh...well, everyone usually just calls me Prdzarel…”

Crawley made a face at that. “I didn’t ask what everyone _calls you_ . I asked what your _name_ is.”

Silence followed the question for a long moment, almost as if the other was weighing the pros and cons of giving a demon his real name. Finally though, he sighed and gave another soft, sad smile. 

“My name’s Aziraphale. It’s nice to meet you, Crawley.” 

~*~*~*~ 

A thousand years had come and gone since that first day in Eden. A thousand years and dozens of chance encounters. The angel and the demon always just a bit on the cautious side around each other, and yet, they’d still find themselves in the company of one another. It usually wasn’t anything to bring up in their reports back to Heaven or Hell, but it was enough to keep the loneliness of eternity at bay. 

Aziraphale would never admit that he felt a bit lighter any time Crawley was nearby. It wouldn’t do for an angel of the Lord, a Principality, the former Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden of all things, to find comfort in the companionship of a demon. Though, said demon never had seemed like the ones Heaven told horror stories about. In fact, Aziraphale thought one night as he lay under the stars in quiet contemplation, Crawley was rather rubbish at being a demon. Just a hundred years prior he had stumbled upon Crawley sitting on a rock beside a river, bare feet swishing back and forth in the clear, cool water while a gaggle of children played and laughed around him. The smallest of which laid contently in Crawley’s arms, sleeping peacefully while the demon spoke softly to the child braiding his hair. 

The sight had startled Aziraphale so very much. How could a demon under the leadership of the Prince of Darkness himself be so gentle, so _kind_ to a group of children? Aziraphale should have swept in to rescue the young ones but he couldn’t. All he could do was stand there in awe as Crawley smiled brightly, holding out a hand for a young boy to place a gleaming jade stone into. 

He had left after that. 

Two days later a swarm of locusts had swept through the village near that river, destroying everything in its path. Save for a small cluster of children hidden safe within a cave no more than a stone’s throw away. When Aziraphale had found them, they spoke of an angel who saved them. The angel of mercy that saved them from fates worse than death and leveled the foul village in his wrath. Among the children Aziraphale recognized the one who had gifted Crawley with the jade stone, the girl who had giggled with happiness as she braided his long red locks down his back, and the babe that had slept so soundly within his arms. 

Against his better judgment, Aziraphale accepted the commendation Heaven had awarded him for the “safe keeping of the innocents”. It sat heavy and sour in his stomach, but he couldn’t find the words to say he hadn’t been the one to save them from the plight set upon their elders. 

It was another two thousand years before Aziraphale met with Crawley again. This time in the wake of destruction brought upon two small desert villages. The fires burned so hot, hotter than anything Aziraphale dared to imagine. The screams rang in the air, punctuated with flashes of lightning as Sandalphon smote those who deserved it and left those who didn't to die in agony just the same. He’d assured Aziraphale, in a tone that left no questions as to how he felt about the other angel, that if there were truly any innocence left in those cities, then the Lord would welcome them into Her arms and they would find rest and peace in the Glory of Heaven. 

Aziraphale tried, he really did! He _tried_ to save anyone he could. He’d come to know some of the people there, they weren’t _all_ wicked as Sandalphon had claimed they were. Lot, for example. His heart had been in the right place when he’d refused the villagers that demanded access to his guests. Aziraphale didn’t quite agree that offering up his two virgin daughters was the way to go, but still, Lot had _tried_ . Not that it had done any good in the end. Lot and his family were the only ones Aziraphale had been able to rescue , and even then it ended up pointless. He’d watched in horror as Lot’s wife broke the one rule he’d begged on them, “ _Whatever you do, do_ **_not_ ** _look back!_ ” What had she done? She’d looked back, earning her the wrath of Sandalphon and a moment of agony as she was turned into a pillar of salt before crumbling into the desert and being swept away on the back of an angry breeze. 

Crawley had found him, still trying desperately to save someone, _anyone_ , from the burning fires and brimstone. Aziraphale’s wings burned under the heat, his feathers singed and curled, covered in the dark ash falling from the sky. He knew he had to look a mess, but he didn’t care, there had to be _some_ decency left in the city! 

“Aziraphale!” cried Crawley, voice only just carrying over the roars and screams. “Aziraphale! What in Satan’s name are you doing? You’re going to get yourself discorporated!”

Aziraphale spun on his heels, eyes wide in panic. “Be gone, demon! Haven’t you done enough here? Leave this place!”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t _done_ anything here!” Crawley reached out, fisting his hand in the soot covered robes Aziraphale wore. “We have to get out of here!”

“No!” Aziraphale yanked away, shaking his head. “No! I won’t leave! I have to help them! I have to _save_ someone! There has to be _someone_ here worth saving!”

“Yes. There is. You! Now let’s --”

Aziraphale leapt away as Crawley tried for another grab at him. He was in too much pain to listen as Crawley called to him again and again. The demon was wrong, he had to be. There had to be one living person, one _human_ left in that blasted city that Aziraphale could save! 

Crawley seemed ready to give up and leave when he froze, head tilted to one side. His black wings unfurled and twitched, a flash of panic crossing his face as his eyes darted back and forth. Aziraphale shivered, picking up on the sense of evil that had appeared. The feeling was horrible, wretched. Nothing at all like the feeling he got whenever Crawley was present. This was pure hatred and malice, finding inhuman glee at the suffering happening around them. 

Above that feeling though, the sound of an infant wailing filled the air. Without thinking, Aziraphale and Crawley both ran towards the sound, dodging the flaming brimstone as it fell from the sky. The feeling of evil drew more pronounced the closer to the sobbing they got. A building on the outskirts of the inferno, smoldering but not yet aflame, a dark figure cackled as they danced about in the shadows. Another joined them, and another, and another. All with horns and identical in appearance. 

A righteous fury rose up in Aziraphale as he watched the low level demons, the ones with no names, created for the sole purpose of being disposable, tossed a flailing bundle back and forth like a hot stone. A screaming, sobbing, terrified hot stone. Before Aziraphale could take one more step, the demons turned to dust, the infant suspended in midair for only a moment before Crawley swept forward to catch them in his arms. The baby screamed, tears rolling down its cheeks as Crawley held it close to his chest, covering its head to keep it from inhaling more of the ash that fell around them. 

When he got closer, he shoved the baby into Aziraphale’s arms and once again took hold of his robes. 

“There!” he hollered, the fire getting closer and closer. “You have your one person worth saving! Are you happy now, you impossible angel? We need to get out of here!”

Aziraphale was too dumbfounded to move, or even think. Crawley had destroyed the cluster of demons _and_ saved a life. And was trying to save _his_ life on top of that. He wanted to protest, to demand Crawley explain his presence, but the words stuck in his throat. The air was too hot, too choking. The sobs of the baby had grown softer but more desperate. 

Crawley snarled as he grabbed hold of Aziraphale’s arms and shook him. “Aziraphale! Leave! Before you’re --”

The sentence never finished, and never would be. One moment Aziraphale was staring at Crawley in disbelief, the next he was soaring through the air, wings struggling to keep him from falling to his discorporation and the baby’s untimely death. A flaming boulder bounced and rolled from where it had landed, the exact spot where a compassionate demon had just been standing. Aziraphale didn’t have time to think before he was teleporting himself and the whimpering baby to safety. He’d saved the life of an innocent, but at the cost of an unlikely ally.


	6. Chapter 6

Humans were capable of creating such wonders that Aziraphale had never seen before. The things their great minds could come up with! The elaborate architecture alone had left him flabbergasted when he first saw them. The colors, the carefully chiseled stone that had to have taken hours, no,  _ years _ to finish. Everything was just incredible. Their transportation had evolved, society as a whole had been constantly evolving. 

_ And the Lord looked upon it, and thought it good,  _ he thought to himself with a pleased little chuckle. 

What he loved most about the evolving society though was  _ writing _ . The written word had made a huge impact on him. Suddenly there were philosophies he’d only heard about available to him. People could share ideas and put their thoughts down. They could write down their plays and sagas and theories. From the original stone etchings of  _ Gilgamesh _ to the carefully bound volumes -- crude though they may be -- Aziraphale aspired to read them all. 

Which was how he’d found himself in Alexandria, Egypt to begin with. He’d heard there was a library built that he wanted to see more than anything else. A home of such great knowledge and scholars. The librarians even went so far as to seize any new information they could get off the ships that pulled into port just so they could copy them for their own records. It was beyond incredible! And even with all the bustle of people moving about inside, Aziraphale felt at  _ home _ . 

He found himself sequestered away, surrounded by piles of scrolls as if he were hoarding them all for his own library. Day would roll into night and he’d read by the hazy light of his halo until the sun came up again. There was so much to learn. Mathematics that seemed nearly impossible and he couldn’t for his ethereal life begin to think of what they could be used for. Honestly, the maths didn’t hold much interest for him. The philosophies and even sciences held his attention most of the time. 

Particularly the ones regarding the stars in the heavens above. For the longest time, nearly as far back as he could remember, Aziraphale had loved the stars. Those tiny pin-pricks of light suspended in the velvet blackness. The only piece of Heaven the living mortals were allowed to see. They couldn’t even gaze upon their own sun, not without causing irreparable damage to their eyes. Much like they weren’t allowed to gaze upon the Almighty. Some speculated for the very same reason. 

At night he’d walk out of the city, far from the flickering flames of torches, and stare up at them. Always looking for the same one but never knowing for sure which one it was he was looking for. He just always felt like there was one star in particular he needed to find. If he could just find it, he could remember why he kept looking for it in the first place. So, he would read. He would read and try to think of what star he was looking for and why it seemed so important to him to find it. 

Decades rolled by and soon Aziraphale found himself appointed as one of the head librarians. A job he took great joy and pride in. 

He’d think of Crawley sometimes, though. More often than he’d like to admit. Frequently, really, if one wanted to get a bit more specific. There were times he even swore he saw the demon out in the streets. That long, flowing, fiery red hair, curling just so down past his shoulders. See a glimpse of a tall, slender figure slink off into a darkened alleyway. Once, he thought for sure he’d heard Crawley say his name. Not from a distance, either. It felt as if it had been said right next to him while he was alone copying a new scroll.

He rather missed Crawley, actually. For being one of the Fallen, he certainly had been decent company. Or at least, someone he could talk to about matters in regards to Heaven and Hell. No one else would understand. In fact, there were several out there who would stone him in the streets for not worshipping their deities. Even if they were essentially all the same person and thus the same being he had been created by. 

For quite some time Aziraphale blamed himself for Crawley’s discorporation. It’d been his fault. His need to save someone from the fires engulfing the sinful cities of Jerusalem. Crawley had tried to save  _ him _ , instead. Aziraphale mourned him; still mourned him, actually. It had been a horrible way to be discorporated. Crushed under a flaming boulder that fell from the sky. It had seemed as if it had been dropped from a great height, aimed perfectly, just so it would crush Crawley. Like the Lord looked down on them and thought it bad that a demon and an angel were on a first name basis. Or thought perhaps Crawley had been trying to hurt them? That one didn’t make sense though. The Lord was omnipotent, she saw and knew all, surely she’d have seen Crawley trying to save two lives and get both Aziraphale and the baby to safety. Why punish him for that? 

Then again, with as hot as the fires burned that night, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it hadn’t been dropped by God, but instead flung by Satan. Disciplining a rebellious demon that dared befriend one of the Heavenly Host. Even if Aziraphale spent more time on Earth than he ever had in Heaven to really feel he could be considered a Heavenly Host, still. That fire though, the heat it had burned with, the agonized screams of the people forced to die that night, it was a painful memory. 

A very painful memory. A memory that found itself back at the forefront of his thoughts as he scrambled and scurried, desperate to save whatever scrolls or tablets or crudely bound books he could while a fire blazed all around him again. 

“Help me!” He cried, reaching out to grab the robe of a fellow librarian as they ran past him. “Help me! We must save the scrolls! We have to protect them!”

“You’re crazy!” the other spat, yanking their arm away from him along with their robe. “Leave them!”

Aziraphale shook his head, helpless as another scroll tumbled from his arms. “No! I can’t! I won’t! I promised I would look after them! That I would guard them and keep them safe! We have to save them!”

“Save them yourself, then!” 

He watched as the librarian bolted down a hallway not yet licked by flames. If only Crawley were there. Crawley would help him. Maybe. Or he’d simply grab hold of Aziraphale and drag him out of the fire kicking and screaming before he could get himself discorporated. It would take a bigger miracle than he could give in order to save all the scrolls and books. Even to try to save a fraction of them would take an enormous amount of angelic energy; far more than he could afford to spend. He was already spreading his abilities thin to keep the fire from creeping up the wall and across the ceiling like a snake looking for its next meal. 

_ Aziraphale. Run!  _

The voice that sounded so much like Crawley was back, begging him to get out of the building. It was real enough sounding, enough that Aziraphale answered it outloud. 

“No!  _ Please _ ! I can’t fail again! I can’t!” 

The thought of failing to save the scrolls he’d sworn to protect was enough to make him sick and frantic. With or without help, he would save any that he could, even if it meant discorporation. He refused to let himself fail again. 

“Lord,” he sobbed, running from the building, “please, Lord? Help me? I need to save them! I swore I’d keep them safe! Help me?  _ Please _ !” 

Like so many times before, the Almighty kept silent. No help from above came from Her. Aziraphale dropped the scrolls a safe distance away before rushing in for more. Truly, no one was going to help him on his futile mission. All those stories and manuscripts, scientific and mathematical theories, philosophies that could help advance mankind and promote peace amongst the kingdoms, it was all going to be lost if he didn’t do  _ something _ . Oh, if only  _ Crawley _ were here!

Four trips in, four trips out. That’s all Aziraphale could manage before the structure started to give way around him. He juggled and fumbled with one last armload when a crack like fierce thunder sounded over his head and he cowered, body curled protectively around the scrolls as he waited for his apparent death, his eyes clenched shut to help brace himself for impact until ---

\---until nothing happened. The roaring thunder over head became dull and faded, as if it were coming from a great distance. Heat that had once been scorching and singeing his wings was replaced with gentle, cooling breeze. He looked around, confused to find himself safely outside the city, watching the bright orange glow in the distance flicker and dance, lapping up into the sky like the Fallen trying to crawl their way back up into Heaven. The scrolls he’d managed to rescue in neat piles around him, each one in pristine condition, with only the faintest hint of Brimstone scenting the air around him. 

A warm breeze brushed past him, carrying a familiar voice along with it. 

_ Stop trying to get discorporated, you stupid angel! Wait for me...stay...stay... _

~*~*~*~

Something in the air was off. There was so much holiness around but so much sadness, also. A bit of spiteful glee, even? It was hard to tell. Feelings were whirling all around and the only thing she could focus on was that glowing white light in the middle of the crowd. Dim and fluttery, but definitely there. She’d know that light anywhere by that point. It belonged to an angel, but not just  _ any _ angel, a special angel. One that wasn’t anything like the stiffs back up in Heaven. 

She weaved through the crowd on the hill, serpentine eyes and senses scanning the area for any signs of her people before she stepped up beside Aziraphale. 

“Come to smirk at the poor bugger, have you?” 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he spun his head to look at her. “Smirk? Me?”

“Well your lot put him on there.”

“I’m not consulted on policy decisions, Crawley.”

It was strange how Aziraphale knew who she was, even with all the time that had passed, and having never presented as a woman before. Yet, he did, and that fact made something strange and warm coil up in her stomach. She did have to correct him on one thing, though.

“Oh, I’ve changed it.”

“Changed what?”

“My name. ‘Crawley’ wasn’t really doing it for me anymore. Too squirming at your feet-ish.”

Aziraphale’s brows scrunched together and he turned his head slightly to level her with a confused look. “Well you were a snake,” he said before looking back ahead of him as the Roman guards continued to nail the Almighty’s only son to a cross. “So what is it now? Mephistopheles? Asmodeous?”

“Crowley.” She flinched at the sound of the nail being driven deeper into flesh and bone. 

Once she’d finally been granted a new corporation after the unfortunate mishap involving a flaming boulder and a stubborn angel -- the stubborn angel wringing his hands nervously next to her, in fact -- Crowley had decided that a new chance on Earth deserved a new name and a new look. Even if only for a little while. She wasn’t sure she quite enjoyed presenting as female. The human female body was...strange. Squishy in places that hurt something fierce a few days a month followed by the most  _ unpleasant _ week that Crowley decided once was enough, thank you. She’d been back on earth nearly four years and was thankful that her body had listened to the threats given to  _ never _ to do that again. 

Satan, she thought she was discorporating for no reason that first day! 

Beside her, Aziraphale gave a hum of acknowledgment before asking, “Did you uh...ever meet him?”

“Yes,” Crowley answered softly. “Seemed a very bright young man. I showed him all the kingdoms of the world.” 

Now  _ that _ had been an experience! She’d been sent there to tempt him, typical day really. Instead, she and him had gotten into a rather deep and philosophical discussion that ended in quite a bit of wine being consumed and Crowley deciding the first ever random road trip was in order. Poor guy hadn’t ever really had the chance to go and see all the places the Almighty had created, after all. 

Aziraphale frowned and tilted his head. “Why?”

Crowley shrugged in reply. “He’s a carpenter from Galilee, his travel opportunities are limited.” 

Jesus cried out then, agony filled the air and made Crowley’s stomach churn. Demon though she might be, she never was much for people being physically tortured or hurt or killed. 

“That has got to hurt,” she muttered. It was hard to keep the bile from rising up in her throat as a wave of sadistic pleasure slammed into her hard. The forces of Darkness were celebrating more with every scream of pain Jesus gave. The guards even seemed to be enjoying themselves, which just made Crowley feel even worse. 

Nothing the Almighty did anymore made any sense to her. To let Her only son be crucified and humiliated like that? It didn’t make sense! Why? Why did people hate him so much? Crowley had spent some time with him and, for being the son of the Almighty, he did seem like a decent fellow. Sure knew how to turn regular water into some of the finest tasting wine Crowley had ever had, that was certain. Still...it didn’t make sense…

“What was it he said that got everyone so upset?” She asked, glancing around at the crowd again. 

“‘Be  _ kind _ to each other,’” answered Aziraphale.

Well, that made sense then. 

“Oh, yeah. That would do it.” 

The pair stood there in silence, watching as the cross was raised up and put into position. As the screams and sobs of pain continued to fill the air, Crowley stole a glance at Aziraphale. She saw the tears welling up in his eyes, clinging to his thick lashes like little jewels. The worst kind of jewels, though. Ones that had no business being attached to that soft, angelic face. 

Honestly, Crowley didn’t know angels  _ could _ cry. Then again, Aziraphale was different. Maybe he was the only one that could. After all, he apparently was the only one who could lie straight to God herself and not get in trouble for it. Whatever it was about him, God certainly seemed to play him as a favorite. Or perhaps she was getting more forgiving as the millenia passed. Crowley could think of seven things that could have caused the angel to fall today. 

She was glad he hadn’t fallen. The poor angel was too soft, too kind. He wouldn’t survive in Hell. Not as a demon. Hastur and Ligur would have fed him to the imps as soon as he got there. No, Aziraphale belonged in the light. Crowley would kill anyone who brought pain and despair upon her angel. Well, maybe not  _ kill _ , but inconvenience them enough to put them into a foul mood for the rest of the week, at least! Maybe even two weeks! 

Wait…

When had Aziraphale become  _ her _ angel?

Frowning, she reached for his hand without giving it a conscious thought. It just seemed right to take his hand, entwin their fingers, and give it a reassuring squeeze. Aziraphale was hurting, and Crowley wanted to fix that any way she could. 

“I was thinking of traveling a bit,” Crowley said after a moment as the crowd began to trickle off. “Get away from this area for a little while. Been here too long.”

Aziraphale didn’t respond. When she turned her head to see what the matter was, she saw why. His eyes were glued to their clasped hands, his lips slightly parted and shoulders shuddering in the most subtle of ways. A demon had taken the hand of an angel and lived to tell about it. No pain, no burning, just warmth and contentment that didn’t make a lot of sense, but felt nice just the same. 

“Aziraphale?” She asked, voice barely over a whisper. “You should get away for awhile, too. Get out there and see the world. There’s more out there than just these holy lands. Go to China, I hear they’re having a grand time out there. Might even get to pet one of those, oh, what are they called? The big, fluffy black and white bears?”

“Pandas?” 

“Yes! Pandas! Might get to pet one of those if you go there. Do you some good to expand your horizons a bit.” 

For a moment Crowley swore Aziraphale was going to argue,  _ insist _ that he needed to stay put. He was still the guardian of the Eastern Gate and, well, even though Eden had been buried and forgotten in the sands of the desert thousands of years ago, they really weren’t all that far from where it  _ had _ been once upon a time. 

Instead, Aziraphale nodded and made no attempt to pull his hand free. Not yet, any way. Finally, after what felt like a full century, he pulled back and coughed needlessly into his sleeve. 

“Perhaps you’re right,” he murmured, eyes cast to the ground. “Perhaps...perhaps I will spread my wings a little. You say China was doing alright for themselves right now?”

Crowley hummed in reply, readjusting her veil and making sure her robes were in order. “I believe so. Been a few hundred years since I last popped over there.”

With a thoughtful nod, Aziraphale straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. Not that he needed to, mind you, but because he’d seen so many humans when faced with a hard decision do just that thing as if to fortify their courage. “I suppose then, I’ll be heading off. Where, uh, where will you be traveling to?”

“Not sure,” answered Crowley. “Hear there’s some interesting things going on in Athens. Might even find some tempting to do along the way. Convince some sailors to go looking for Atlantis. Don’t know.”

“Atlantis? Didn’t you make that place up?”

A wickedly pleased smile curled up her lips as she casually shrugged one shoulder. 

“I did. And I still can’t believe that Plato bought it. That whole bit about it sinking into the Aegean before the world was even created. It’s legendary now.”

“How nice for you.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes and sighed. When he spoke again, his hands folded in front of himself, it was with a gentle kindness that made Crowley’s skin, well, crawl a little. “Safe travels, Crowley. May we meet on better occasion.”

With a subtle nod, Crowley took two steps back, ready to make her retreat. “Until we meet again, Aziraphale.”


	7. Chapter 7

It was simply by chance that Aziraphale ran into Crowley a mere 8 years later. He’d been in Rome for no particular reason and decided to stop off at a gathering place. He hadn’t known Crowley was there, also. Not until he heard that unmistakable voice. The demon had seemed upset, or rather, defeated might have been a better word. Whatever he’d been there to do, it clearly hadn’t gone well. 

Least, not if his mood was anything to go off of. 

Still, Aziraphale had been polite, friendly even. The constant changing faces had gotten a little rough and it was nice to see someone familiar for a change. He tried to strike up a conversation, learning that Crowley was in Rome for a temptation, which sounded about right for him. And that Crowley had never had an oyster before. Aziraphale changed that nearly immediately. 

As they sat and sampled the cuisine Aziraphale had grown so fond of -- Crowley not sure what was supposed to be so great about slurping down a seafaring muscle -- they talked. Mostly about work. Crowley, as it turned out, had in fact done a little too well in his tempting. Aziraphale had known about the Emperor and his eccentricities and had heard that the man was only getting worse as time went on. He hadn’t, however, heard that plans were in the making to have the Emperor killed. There was even talk of the man’s wife and daughter being put to death. That upset Aziraphale. He hadn’t been told a thing about it from Heaven, and surely the assassination of two innocents would be enough for him to be told. He hadn’t been, though, and he watched while Crowley drank himself into a stupor over the whole affair. 

Not for the first time, Aziraphale wondered what made Crowley so unlike the other demons. 

Then, they parted ways again. 

It was several hundred years before they ran into each other again. This time in England. That damp little island that Aziraphale ultimately fell in love with. It felt as if it was the closest to Eden he was going to get. All the trees and greenery, the animals. Oh how he loved it. And it was made all the better once he found out Crowley was there in England, too. Not that he would admit it to anyone, including himself and most  _ certainly _ not to Crowley, but he’d missed the demon. 

For a time, it felt as if a part of him was waiting for something or someone. Like there was supposed to be someone next to him when things got difficult. But there wasn’t. It was a strange feeling, one that he could never manage to explain. Just that something felt  _ missing _ . Any time he and Crowley were apart, that nagging feeling would peck at the back of his brain. Once he was back in the demon’s company, the feeling would sigh with relief, settle down with a quiet contentment, and not return until they parted ways again. 

Aziraphale chose to ignore that feeling. It came with unwanted memories of a face and voice he couldn’t place. 

It was hard to ignore though, when for the first time in nearly six hundred years, that feeling had settled back down and hummed peacefully in the back of his mind while he and Crowley argued at the edge of a field. 

“This is ridiculous! All we’re doing is cancelling each other out! It’s pointless for us both to be here, Aziraphale.”

“Well,” Aziraphale started, tugging at his tunic a bit to straighten it, “that may be true, but the fact remains that there is no way I am going to simply turn my duties over to you. You’re a demon. How would you explain doing blessings or a miracle to Hell? They’d never allow it.”

Crowley groaned and turned a slow circle in place, hands clenching in his hair with frustration. 

“They don’t keep tabs. They’re never going to know! So long as I make some trouble along the way, they’re not going to care.”

The idea of Crowley performing blessings or miracles worried Aziraphale. A lot. Not just because he didn’t know how Hell would react if they found out what Crowley was doing, but he was scared of what  _ Heaven _ would do. Surely they’d be able to tell that a  _ demon _ had done his job for him. Especially when it came to the reports, later. They’d reek of Brimstone, wouldn’t they? What if Michael came down and destroyed them both? 

Gentle hands landed on his shoulders, bringing him out of his thoughts and worries. He looked up, surprised at how gentle Crowley’s grip was on him. It didn’t burn, it didn’t hurt, it just felt...it felt…

“Look, Aziraphale, I can prove to you that I can still do blessings and miracles. Even if I am a demon. I can still do them, they’ll still be  _ holy _ , if that’s what you’re worried about. Let me prove it to you. If I can do it, we share the workload. What do you say?”

“I...but if Hell finds out…” the unspoken  _ I don’t think I want to lose you  _ sat heavy on Aziraphale’s heart. 

“They won’t.”  _ You won’t,  _ Crowley’s own unspoken words hung in the air between them. 

Reluctantly, Aziraphale nodded once. Just a small, subtle bob of his head. “Alright. If you can prove it will be safe...I...we can come to some form of an arrangement.”

A smile brightened Crowley’s face as he dropped his hands from Aziraphale’s shoulders and nodded in agreement. “Right. Absolutely. Completely safe. I’ll prove it to you. What do you say to a bit to eat and drink? Hm? My treat.” 

Curse Crowley for finding out Aziraphale had developed a fondness for human food. Not all the foods they’d made, mind, but a lot of them had become his favorites. He particularly enjoyed roasted boar with a mug of spiced wine. Where the meat was tender enough to fall apart in his hands and the juices ran down his fingers. It was delightfully messy and there just so happened to be an inn not far from where they stood that served the best roasted boar he’d ever tried. 

“Well, if you’re buying. I suppose I wouldn’t mind a small plate of something. I know just the place.” 

Four hours later they found themselves sitting on the same wooden stools at a short table. Or rather, found themselves sliding from the stools onto the floor just to be brought back up again when the other caught them. They’d gone through several bottles of spiced wine and Aziraphale had quite possibly eaten an entire boar by himself given the number of plates he’d had. 

They leaned heavily on each other, talking loudly and slurring their words. 

“Azi...Az...you blasted angel,” Crowley stammered, “what...what do I have t’ do t’ prove I can do a pr’per blessing t’ your likings? Hmm? I c’n bring da boar back t’ life? Yeah? I...I c’n do dat for you. If you want?”

Aziraphale shook his head, a sour look on his face. He waved his hands, trying to decline that offer without saying the words. He wasn’t sure how the roasted boar would like being brought back to life while still on a spit over a flame. Wasn’t sure how the other patrons would feel about it either. It’d be rather a mess. 

“No...no I...I don’ think tha...that would be a good idea. What...what if you...you could...you could bless this inn. Make it so...so they never know hardship.”

“Tha’ssss what you want?”

“Mm-hmm. Yes. They have the most delicious boar. I...I don’ want them to close.”

Crowley nodded and leaned back a bit. His glasses had slipped down his nose, revealing his yellow eyes. The corner they were in was dark, lit only by the flickering of the fireplace across from them, no one would notice his odd eyes unless they got down right in front of them. And since Crowley had used one of his own miracles to make sure they were ignored and left alone, that wasn’t likely to happen. 

“One blessing for the boar inn...I can do that...you just watch.” 

A long, thin finger wiggled in Aziraphale’s face, causing him to giggle with drunken glee. He watched Crowley roll himself back up from his stool and assume a mostly upright position. Even if he was swaying on his feet and looked ready to fall down at any slight breeze to go past him. 

“I, Crowley, hereby bless this inn...this...this Boar’s Head Inn. May they never know hardship and prosper all...all their days. The end.” He nodded, making it final and official as he waved a hand in almost a cross like manner. Not quite a cross, but, close enough. 

Aziraphale smiled from ear to ear, clapping proudly while Crowley dripped back down onto his stool and finished off the rest of his wine in one go. 

“That...that was  _ beautiful,  _ my dear. It...wonderful. Thank you.” 

A scowl crossed Crowley’s face and he refilled his mug only to empty it again quickly. He looked slightly green around the gills, but still managed to scowl at the words  _ beautiful _ ,  _ wonderful _ , and  _ thank you _ . 

“That bloody tasted like burning on my tongue. Proof, though. Ey? See?”

It was proof, or at least it seemed to be proof. Time would tell whether it had worked or not. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be staying in the Cotswold, or when he’d be able to venture back there again should he leave. He hoped he’d be able to make it back in 100 years time to find the place still standing and still prospering. 

With a hum, he nodded. 

“That does prove the blessing part. What...what about the miracle part, though? Still need to do an unde-mon...un...a  _ good _ miracle.”

Crowley groaned, dropping his head down onto the table.

“This was  _ your _ idea, Crowley.” Aziraphale tsk’d. 

With another groan, more pathetic sounding than the last one, Crowley lifted his head to stare Aziraphale down. “Wha’ kind of miracle you want?”

Aziraphale thought for a moment, carefully considering his options. As much as he’d love to have more wine or more food, those miracles wouldn’t prove they weren’t demonic, they would just prove that Crowley was incapable of not humoring him. No, it had to be something inherently good. He scanned the open room, letting his blurry gaze settle on each person for a moment before nodding. 

“There.” He pointed towards the bar where a young woman, not more than twenty, stood wiping up a spill. “Tha’s...tha’s what I want you to do. Her name is Arleigh, her family owns the inn. She...she an’...an’...” the words trailed off as Aziraphale turned in his seat. First one way, then the other, until he found who he was looking for. “Ah! She an’ Alton were married a year ago. They can’t have children. It...it would take a  _ miracle _ for them to have a child.”

For a moment, all Crowley seemed able to do was sit there and sputter. Vague word like sounds coming from his mouth without actually being any kind of comprehendable words. Aziraphale had been there at the Tower of Babel, but even he had to admit he didn’t know what Crowley was trying to say. At least, not until the stammering and stuttering came to an end. 

“What?” Crowley finally croaked out. “What,  _ now? Here? _ You wan’ her to have a child  _ here?  _ Right now?” 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, a look of disgust crossing his face. “No! That’s not what I meant!”

“Passsssssificssss, Aziraphale. I’m a  _ demon _ , you know you have to be pacific...spif...sssssspeff...you have to say what you mean.”

“It would take a miracle for them to  _ be able _ to have children!” Oh Aziraphale wasn’t nearly drunk enough to deal with Crowley’s silliness. Or maybe he was  _ too _ drunk. Maybe they should sober up. Though, he didn’t want to sober up. Not yet at least. He had been enjoying having Crowley by his side again, if they sobered up, then Crowley would have to leave and Aziraphale would have to leave and it would be Someone only  _ knew _ how long before they’d see each other again! 

Unaware of Aziraphale’s emotional dilemma, Crowley huffed and slouched back over the table. He deflated like a bladder in relief. 

“Right...okay. I can do that...one  _ good miracle _ coming up.” With that, he gave a flick of the wrist off towards the couple who were standing near each other, quietly talking. 

Miracles weren’t normally something that became obvious right away, they were something that were a bit subtle at first -- the local abbey requesting money to repair their damaged roof, then later instead of a new roof, someone gifts them an entirely new building -- this time though. This time Crowley made it  _ quite obvious _ that he’d done something. 

Arleigh and Alton had gone from talking quietly to each other to suddenly taking each other by the hand, Arleigh leaving her post at the bar to lead Alton up the stairs to the rooms on the second floor. A lavacious glint in her eyes and Alton followed closely behind her, seemingly unable to keep his hands to himself. For a moment Aziraphale feared they’d simply forgo the privacy of a room and Alton would take her right then and there on the stairs. Arleigh willingly letting him. 

Thankfully, they made it up the stairs and into a room before ravishing each other. 

“Lucky bastard…” muttered Crowley, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched up around his ears. 

A wave of want and longing rolled off Crowley and crashed into Aziraphale. There wasn’t any love involved, not that he could sense, but the want and longing for  _ something _ was as real and tangible as anything. He glanced back up the stairs, then to Crowley quickly. Something warm flickered in his stomach then quickly snuffed itself out. He wondered for a moment what Crowley was talking about until it hit him. 

Crowley was the Original Tempter. His job was to tempt people. Perhaps he wanted a bit of temptation himself. After all, didn’t demons generally give in to the sins of the flesh? That was a temptation, wasn’t it? Sitting there at the inn, Crowley next to him bathed in the soft glow of a flickering warm fire, Aziraphale had to admit it certainly seemed a temptation to him. His drink addled mind drifted to thoughts certainly unbecoming of an angel. What would it be like, he wondered, to have Crowley in such a manner? To taste his lips and skin, to feel his weight covering him? Crowley would be a gentle lover, Aziraphale had no doubt about that. He’d be gentle and giving, tending to Aziraphale like he’s the most precious thing in the world. They’d slot together perfectly. Crowley’s lean muscles and long limbs fitting against his softer corporation. It would be  _ heavenly _ …

Shattering glass startled him out of his thoughts. Aziraphale blinked quickly, shaking the images out of his mind before looking around for whatever had just broken. Wine dripped into his lap. The bottle they had been sharing in pieces across the table, glittering like little diamonds in the firelight. 

“Oh,” he cried, quickly using a miracle of his own to return the bottle to rights and clean up the mess that had been made. “Goodness, Crowley. What was that about?”

Silence answered him. Silence filled with the fizzle that came with miraculously sobering up. He could suddenly sense surprise and a bit of fear coming from Crowley. It was enough to have him sobering up, also. He quickly scanned the room for anything that might cause them trouble. It would be just his luck Gabriel would pop down for a surprise check-in and catch him taking supper with the enemy. 

There was nothing, though; no demons there to destroy Crowley for performing non-demonic miracles, but also no angels to smite either of them down. Instead, there was just a look of shock staring back at him and he suddenly knew why. 

Pink raced up his ears as he ducked his head to avoid looking Crowley in the eye. “Oh. Oh, I…”

“Where did you learn to pick up  _ lust _ ? And  _ jealousy? Aziraphale! _ ” Crowley laughed and shoved at his shoulder, knocking him off balance. “You’re  _ jealous _ ! I could feel it. Little Aziraphale jealous of the happy couple up there couple-ing? Which one was it? Who’re you jealous of? Which one are you  _ lusting _ after?”

Aziraphale stammered, his ears growing even more pink as he shook his head. “I’m not! I don’t know what you think you felt, but I can assure you it was nothing of that sort! I’m an  _ angel _ , for Heaven’s sake! We don’t feel lust or jealousy. That’s for your lot. Whatever you think you felt, it wasn’t from me.” 

“Me thinks the angel doth protest too much,” Crowley answered with a smirk. “Been down here a bit too long, hm? Startin’ to get those pesky human urges?”

“Absolutely not!” Aziraphale put his hands flat on the table in front of him and squared his shoulders. “This conversation is over. You’ve proved your point. You’re able to do blessings and miracles. Yes. Fine. We’ll come to an arrangement. Share the work and such. Are you happy?”

He cast a quick glance sideways and huffed. Crowley was still grinning at him like the cat that got the milk. 

“Oh, I’m beyond happy. An angel that feels lust and jealousy and takes to eating supper like a human? You’re four sins away from committing the Big Seven.”

“I told you! Angels don’t feel such things!”

“There’s Pride. I forgot about that one for a minute. Three away.”

“ _ Crowley _ !”

Panic had started to rise up in Aziraphale because Crowley was right. How could he have been right? Maybe Aziraphale  _ had _ been among the humans for too long. He’d been lusting over Crowley, over a  _ demon _ \-- which had to be a sin in its own right -- and had been jealous that a human couple had what he never could. 

_ Lust _

_ Envy _

_ Gluttony _

_ Pride _

Good  _ Lord _ would Aziraphale be in trouble if Michael and Gabriel found out about that. He really was only three away from committing all seven. Aziraphale felt his world tip. It was time to leave. He needed to get out of the inn and as far away from Crowley and his temptations as possible before his own wings turned black. There was no doubt in his mind that he wouldn’t be able to handle being a demon should he fall. He’d probably throw himself into a pool of Holy Water. 

The stool clattered to the stone floor and Aziraphale nearly tripped over it in his haste to stand up and move away from the table. There was hurt written across Crowley’s face. Because of him. That part inside of him that settled so contently every time they were together sat up and cried out,  _ No! Don’t go! Don’t leave! Stay! Stay! _ Aziraphale ignored it. 

“Oh dear...I...I just remembered I...I have an engagement to get to. I...I should go. You’ve got your arrangement now. Enjoy your wine. I need to…”

“Angel. Wait!”

White hot pain cut through Aziraphale’s mind and tore at his chest. Something snapped inside him, something small and nearly insignificant but enough of a something that it had him suddenly stumbling and grasping for whatever he could to keep himself upright. A face and a voice flashed around him. Long, flowing, fiery hair cascading down in gentle waves against a pair of brilliant white wings. The glitter of something dancing in the ethereal glow around them. A voice calling him,  _ Angel _ for the first time. The first time he’d heard it used as an endearment, a place holder until...until what? What was it taking the place of? 

Strong arms wrapped around him, a distant voice calling out his name.  _ Aziraphale! Aziraphale! _ It wasn’t right. It didn’t  _ sound _ right. That was his name though, Aziraphale. A name he both cherished and despised. It was important to him, given to him by someone he held oh so dear -- the Lord, obviously, as She named all her children -- yet hurt to think about at times. Why would he be given a name with “Fell” at the end of it? Sandalphon had always sneered at him for his name, saying he’d been given that name because he’d been expected to fall. It’d been a pity he hadn’t. 

“Aziraphale? Aziraphale! What’s the matter with you?”

Crowley’s cries bounced around in his head, swirling around with the other voice calling out for him. The images and sounds spun faster and faster, coming at him with deadly speed, not giving him time to latch on to even one thing; refusing to let him make sense of anything that was happening around him. Then…

...nothing. Blackness. Complete and utter blackness. Save for the faint pinpricks of light surrounding him. The stars he’d helped to name. 

Once he awoke, he found himself alone in a room, lying on a straw mattress with a rough wool blanket covering him. Incense filled the air, the sound of rustling fabric and shuffling feet passing by his closed door. Indistinct words that could have been Benedictine monks chanting filtering through to his ears. A monastery. How had he gotten there? 

“Arise, Brother Francis. We are to offer Mass and you are still in bed.”

Blinking, Aziraphale looked around his room until he saw the face the voice had belonged to. A young man, barely out of his teen years, gripping the low ledge of a window and smiling in at him. 

“Oh, uh...quite. Yes. Give me a moment, if you will?”

“Best not dawdle. Don’t want Brother Ezekieal to catch you being late again.”

“No,” answered Aziraphale slowly. “No, wouldn’t want that.” 

The face at the window grinned all the brighter at him before disappearing from sight, leaving Aziraphale to piece his memory back together as best as he could. The last thing he remembered was Crowley scooping him up in his arms and blackness.

The subtle hints of Brimstone wafted around him. A miracle performed. A miracle for him, from Crowley. 

“ _ Guard him...protect him...keep him safe from harm… _ ” words spoken so long ago, so very, very long ago. Words Aziraphale only thought he remembered hearing once upon a time.

~*~*~*~

Crowley had decided, without a doubt, that he most  _ certainly _ was  _ not _ enjoying the new century. Well, wasn’t quite so new anymore, but it was still the worst one he’d experienced yet. And that was saying something given he’d been on Earth for several,  _ several _ centuries. He’d been on Earth since before the invention of clothes. Back when all Adam and Eve wore out of the garden were leaves, and those really didn’t cover nearly as much as the two thought they did. 

So it went without saying, that if Crowley, a demon from Hell, the original tempter and Serpent of the Garden of Eden, thought a century was bad, then by Satan it was  _ bad _ . 

London had particularly gotten rancid. Buckets of waste being tossed out of windows and into the streets below. Rats sharing living spaces and food with the humans. It was no wonder they got sick all the time. It had nothing to do with any forces of evil, it was just humans getting sick from their own filth. 

Until it wasn’t.

Until Crowley caught Hastur and Ligur slinking down the streets. The next thing he knew, people were getting sicker and sicker. Boils appeared on their skin, fingers turned black and dark splotches dotted across the people like spots on a leopard. They were dying, faster than Crowley had imagined a population could. It felt like the Great Flood all over again.  _ God _ certainly wasn’t helping the people. No surprise there, really.  _ She _ was  _ letting _ them die. All of them. Even children who still had so much to live for. Had such potential left in them. An urchin on the streets could have grown up to become a pillar of society. Or try to usurp the king and take the throne for themselves. Who knew what those kids could have done if the Lord would have just spared their lives. 

Watching the children die,  _ again _ , only made Crowley all the more angry at his supposed Mother. The being who claimed to love all her children. What mother would purposely watch her children suffer and die when all it would take was one intervention from Her to keep the sickness from spreading? 

Crowley had gotten rather tired of being helpless when it came to saving the kids. It’d been some time since he’d crossed paths with Aziraphale, no missions that would have canceled each other out, but that didn’t mean Crowley wasn’t allowed to take matters into his own hands. He wouldn’t be able to save all the kids, he knew that. Eventually Hell would start to notice his miracles were being used on healing them instead of causing more turmoil, and they’d want answers, but he’d do what he could. He had to. It was obvious Aziraphale wasn’t in any hurry to get there and help to cure them. 

The cowardly angel. 

Without another thought, Crowley marched himself into the midst of the sickness. Where the bodies stacked up on the side of the streets, waiting for the wagon to rattle through and pick them up. They’d be taken somewhere to be disposed of. The poor souls that would probably never find rest. The poor, the old, the children, they were the first to go. To be dumped without regard into a pit with the rest of the bodies.

The youngest and the poorest were the ones Crowley went to first. The mothers on their deathbeds, sobbing as their innocent child suffered through the same pain she did. He’d find those people first and carefully help to heal them. He’d then magic them away, far away, somewhere the plague hadn’t reached yet and wouldn’t reach. They could start over somewhere, create a new community and hopefully take a bit more care in how they kept themselves. 

Day after day, Crowley would seek out the sickest ones he could. It was probably cruel, but he left the elderly alone. Or, if he happened upon one in serious pain and near death, he’d gently help them along, giving them whatever little bit of comfort he could. He didn’t feel right having people confess their sins to him, oh if only they knew just who and  _ what _ he was! Crowley would listen though. He’d listen and nod and then ease them to sleep. The things these people thought of as sins. Nearly none of them were bad enough to worry over whether they’d be going to Heaven or not. The ones who did need to worry, well, Crowley tried to be sympathetic. It wouldn’t be easy for them, it wouldn’t be fun, but he tried. The man who beat his wife daily, the doctor that would poison his patients instead of helping them, though? Those people Crowley wouldn’t even bat an eye at. He’d be seeing them Downstairs at some point. 

“Are we sure this isn’t in fact the end of the world?”

Crowley lifted his head to look over his shoulder. He was crouched in an alley, cradling a little girl no more than six in his arms. Behind him stood a figure he’d know anywhere. Even with the doctor garb on. The light behind him caused him to glow and his wings to shimmer just slightly into existence. 

Aziraphale had arrived. 

It took him long enough.

A scowl curled at the corners of his mouth, that turned into a sneer the longer he stared at Aziraphale. The damned angel had the nerve to stand there, covered from head to toe, protecting himself from the disease that had ravaged their city. He didn’t  _ need _ to be covered from head to toe. He was an  _ angel _ ! Angels didn’t have to worry about contracting diseases that were deadly to the people around them. They could miracle the sickness away with barely a thought, but there Aziraphale stood, completely concealed, daring to ask if this was perhaps the end of the world. 

Crowley felt his anger build inside him, warring with the desire to throw himself at Aziraphale and just miracle them away, somewhere the plague hadn’t reached yet. With a gentleness not natural to demons, Crowley set the girl down on the ground, there was nothing more he could do for her anyway. He’d already watched Death take her hand and lead her away. At least she was going somewhere nice, and for a moment he saw her as she should have been. Clear skin, bright eyes, a warm smile. 

“You.” The word came out as a low growl as he got to his feet. “The end of the world? You think  _ thissss _ issss the end of the world? Thisss can be ssstopped. Thisss can be  _ fixed _ .  _ Thissss.  _ Didn’t need to happen. None of it.” 

Aziraphale stood stock still in front of him as Crowley edged closer. So much anger, so much pain, so much  _ confusion _ swirled around inside him. So many questions of why? Why?  _ Why? _

“I know,” came Aziraphale’s reply, muffled through the beak of the mask he wore. A moment later, he stood in front of Crowley, dressed in his own garb again. The sleeves of his white shirt billowing in the breeze like a small pair of wings. “I know, Crowley.”

“Then  _ why? _ ”

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale quickly held up his hands in compliance and hurried to defend himself. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I wish I did, but...they don’t consult me, you  _ know _ that!”

The answer didn’t help to ease Crowley’s pain any. 

“Where the blazes have you been, then? Off sampling the goodies of the far east? Playing innocent angel while  _ millions _ of people are dying?” 

It wasn’t fair to accuse Aziraphale like that, and Crowley knew that. He really did. Right then, though, he wanted nothing more than to hurt Aziraphale as much as he himself had been hurting for the last year and a half. He couldn’t do it alone. He couldn’t save them. And no one,  _ no one _ , seemed to be in any hurry to try to help him. 

“No. I mean, yes, I was in the far east...but I wasn’t there sampling any  _ goodies _ . Where do you think this all started? It started there and spread. It  _ spread _ , Crowley and there was nothing I could do about it! I tried! I asked for help, I  _ begged for it _ ! I went up against Gabriel time and time again. Every time I was told it was all part of the Great Plan. It was clearly God’s will that they...that all those people...that…”

They stood staring at each other for a long moment, their emotions settling right on the surface for the other to see and feel. Oh could Crowley feel it. It burned inside him, the pain that Aziraphale had felt as he fought a losing battle on the front lines, all by himself. Aziraphale wasn’t even a healer, he was a warrior. Except, he wasn’t even that. He was something else. Something that Crowley couldn’t quite figure out. Still, he’d been on the front lines like a good little soldier, fighting and fighting and losing so many times. Just as Crowley had been. Except Crowley remembered. He  _ knew _ he’d been a healer before he fell. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. 

“Help me, Aziraphale,” he finally begged. “Please...help me?”

It only took a moment for Aziraphale to decide. With a nod of his head, he let his wings flicker back into existence on the mortal plane. They would both go unnoticed from that day forward, doing what they could to cut the disease off at the pass. Crowley would whisper into people’s ears, convincing them a nice stay out in the woods would do them good. All that fresh air and clean water. Aziraphale blessed the dying, performed last rites as needed, and did what he could to miracle the sickness away before it could infect anyone else. 

Too many people died in the end, too many to count -- though Aziraphale had a vague idea as to how many it ended up being -- but not nearly as many as there would have been had Aziraphale not shown up or if he had turned his back on Crowley. 

As the last tiny babe was laid to rest in its shallow grave, Crowley felt like the entirety of the world had fallen onto his shoulders. He felt  _ tired _ . For the first time ever, he wanted to find out what it was like to sleep. Not the eternal sleep, mind you, just... _ sleep _ . To close his eyes, steady his breathing, and have the world slip away from him. That was what humans did when they were tired, wasn’t it? They’d go to bed. Crowley wanted that. Well, that and -- 

“I need a drink,” he mumbled under his breath, turning away from the grave and Aziraphale. 

Footsteps shuffled across the ground behind him. “Yes. I believe we have both earned a good drink.” 

They didn’t drink themselves into a stupor, even though they wanted to. They simply drank until the bottle was empty, sobered themselves up, and started all over again. If they allowed themselves to get too drunk, they would undoubtedly fall into a sobbing heap on the floor. So instead, the pair sat across from each other at a tiny table in a tiny tavern, drinking in tired silence. 

Crowley had been staring down into his mug when Aziraphale finally spoke. It was the first time they’d really had a chance to just sit and  _ talk _ since Aziraphale had arrived the year before. When he did start off, Crowley lifted his eyes to watch him over the rims of his small, round, dark glasses. 

“I woke up in a monastery,” said Aziraphale, voice low and thoughtful. “They kept calling me Brother Francis.”

It took a minute for the words to fully sink into Crowley’s mind and make sense. “Oh. Right…”

Aziraphale finally turned his eyes to meet Crowley’s. “I could feel you, you know? Your presence? You left me at a monastery and miracled me into everyone’s memories. Created a whole elaborate backstory for me and you didn’t even bother to fill me in on it. Everyone knew my supposed life story except for me!” 

The laugh took Crowley by surprise. He stared, dumbfounded as Aziraphale continued to giggle, before he felt a chuckle of his own bubble up inside of him. That had been a rather terrifying night. He’d thought he’d done something wrong, that his performing a miracle and blessing just to prove that he could had caused Aziraphale to nearly discorporate somehow. And then there’d been that stab of pain in his head. Crowley hadn’t known what to do. So he’d miracled Aziraphale somewhere safe, somewhere he’d be protected until he was well again, and Crowley had gone slinking off to a dark cave to hide and lick his own wounds. 

“Right, yeah, sorry ‘bout that. I was a bit scared out of my wits to be honest, though. Wasn’t exactly thinking all that clearly.”

“Scared?” Aziraphale tilted his head in question. “Whatever for?”

“For you.” Crowley turned his eyes back down to his mug and took a deep drink from it, letting the crude liquor burn its way down his throat and settle like a heavy rock in the pit of his stomach. “I didn’t know what was happening. All of the sudden you were trying to make a hasty retreat, I tried to stop you, and next thing I knew you were sobbing and crying out in Enochian. People were starting to stare.”

“I...was?”

Crowley nodded. 

“Something about a starmaker and insisting your name wasn’t Aziraphale.”

“Oh…” Aziraphale lowered his eyes to stare at his hands. That didn’t make sense. Then again, nothing about that night or the last decade made much sense to him anymore. “Crowley? Do you...do you  _ remember _ anything before you...before...well, from  _ before _ ?”

Thinking about his past had always hurt. There were bits and pieces he remembered better than others, and then there were more feelings that he remembered most. It had been a source of many long nights, yelling up at the sky, asking why he was the only demon to have so many memories of Before. Asking why She had cast him out. Always asking questions. Maybe that was why he’d been cast out. He’d asked too many questions, been too curious. That wasn’t a bad thing, was it? 

Must have been, or else he wouldn’t have been dragged down and baptised in a pool of sulfur otherwise. 

“I...remember I was a healer. I remembered that while I was trying to help the plague victims. And I remember…”  _ Stardust. So much stardust. A beautiful angel laughing and smiling as he shook it out of his hair. Playing chase through the stars and around planets. Being loved. Being  _ in _ love. _

Crowley growled under his breath, shook his head, and finished off his drink in one fell swoop. The memories hurt enough whenever they came back to him, but that feeling of being loved and being  _ in love _ ? Those feelings hurt more than he could stand. A demon couldn’t love, didn’t deserve to be loved, and snarled at the idea of being in love. Maybe as an angel Crowley had all those things, but now...now they were just a painful reminder of what he didn’t have and would rather forget. 

“Look, I try hard not to think about that time, okay? No good came from it. None.”

Aziraphale lifted his eyes and Crowley could see the hurt hiding within the depth of his eyes. “None?”

“No.” Crowley shook his head, poured himself another drink, and downed it like a shot. “None. Couldn’t have, not if I’m a demon.”

“What if…”

“No, angel, no ‘what if…’,” he paused, feeling the sharp tug in his chest and lightning fast jab of pain in his head. Given the way Aziraphale flinched, he wondered if he’d felt it too. Or if it was just a reaction to Crowley taking on a harsh tone and cutting him off. That would make more sense. 

With the pain came the memories, though. Nothing concrete, nothing he could truly grasp, but they were there. Crowley as he’d been so many years before, lying on his back and floating through the blackness of space. He saw training grounds and Michael using far harsher methods with one smaller angel than she did with anyone else. It made something hot coil up inside of him. 

“Crowley…?” 

His name drew him from his memories with a quiet, pained groan.

“Crowley? Are you alright?”

All he could do for a moment was nod his head and keep his eyes closed behind his glasses. He’d need to make up some excuse, and fast. With his strength gathered, he pushed himself to stand and look down at Aziraphale. 

“M fine. Look, it was nice seeing you again, but I’ve ‘bout had enough of this place for a few decades. I’m gonna be headin’ off.”

“Where will you go?” 

Crowley turned, one eyebrow quirked over the rim of his glasses. Aziraphale seemed to flush a bit as he shrugged and continued. “Just so I know where to avoid for a little while. Not that I wish to avoid  _ you _ , I just...well in case…”

“Aziraphale, sh-sh-sh...I don’t know where I’ll be going. Might pop over to France, see how the war’s doing over there. Cause some mischief, dunno.”

“Ah, well, in that case I suppose I’ll stay here. Wouldn’t do for us to be seen together too often. Besides,” Aziraphale forced a smile onto his face and worked to keep the pain out of his eyes. “Lots of work to do here, after all. Lives to help rebuild, new churches to erect.”

“Right. Take care an-ziraphale…”

With that, Crowley left the tavern and turned his sights to exploring the known world as best as he could. Never staying in one place for too long, and causing only minor inconveniences along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I refuse to believe that Crowley would allow people, especially children, to suffer during _any_ of the plagues that washed across England throughout history. I just can't see him doing that. So it is my personal headcanon that for that span of time, for each and every plague to go through the land, that Crowley did his best to shirk his duties as a demon and do what he could to help save at least the kids. He's a soft demon and we all know it. 
> 
> Also, I fudged with history a little bit. If you're imagining Aziraphale being dressed in the typical plague doctor uniform with the mask that looks like a creepy bird, you'd be correct. That's exactly how he's dressed. However, in my research, I found that this particular uniform for plague doctors wasn't invented until the 17th century. Soooo, we'll just say for once Aziraphale's "fashion sense" was ahead of its time, because for some reason I just weirdly love the image of Crowley looking up and seeing this completely covered figure and it being Aziraphale and Crowley just losing his shit because, like he thinks in the scene, how _dare_ Aziraphale try to protect himself from the plague when _he's_ not the one that needs protection from it.


	8. Chapter 8

Aziraphale remembered first. Remembered the first time he’d been called Angel. He remembered sitting and watching in awe as stars were created right in front of him. The Archangel that had taken to keeping him as a companion was still a bit hazy, but the feeling Aziraphale got every time he thought about the Archangel, oh how it made his heart both sing and break at the same time. 

Sometimes it hurt to remember what things had been like before the Great Fall. It was hard to remember a time when all of God’s angels were present and accounted for under one roof (metaphorically speaking). With those thoughts came flashes of the War. So many of his brethren fell during that time. They let themselves be swayed by the Morning Star’s charm and silky voice, offering them empty promises that no one would be able to keep. Those memories weren’t the ones that hurt the most though. The memories that hurt the most, were the ones of Joined Angels, partners ripped from each other by the fall. 

The strange thing about those memories, though, was how they would appear and leave him with an aching head for days and a stomach that regularly would upset whatever he’d try to eat -- which in turn would only make his head ache all the more. 

Almost as if  _ he _ were the one who’d been Joined only to have that connection snatched away from him. So many times he would turn, expecting to find someone there, only be surrounded by empty air or strangers. His chest ached at times when he’d watch happy couples strolling along, arms linked together and heads bent towards each other to whisper sweet nothings at one another. The pain tugged at him, desperate for him to listen, to reach out and find the one who held the final piece of him.

That was ridiculous though! He was the outcast among the angels, the strange one, small and passive. The angel who spent too much time on Earth and was too sympathetic towards the humans . He was the one that had befriended his eternal enemy -- a demon called Crowley. No one would dare to Join with him. None of the other angels even  _ liked _ him! And certainly not enough to involve themselves with him so intimately. 

Him, Joined? It was an absolutely absurd notion. Ridiculous. Faulty memories of a traumatic time, that’s all. And yet he couldn’t banish the thought, the feeling that something was missing, that he was forgetting something...

“Crowley? Do demons ever Join with each other?” He asked one sunny afternoon as they relaxed in the shade of a small cafe in Paris. 

“Mm?” answered Crowley, clearly not paying attention. Aziraphale could tell his eyes were tracking the movements of the young man serving tables. With a flick of one long finger, Crowley grinned all the more as a cup of coffee found its way into the lap of a man who seemed to be giving his companion a difficult time. 

Aziraphale paid them no mind as he stirred his own drink. “Do demons ever Join with each other? You know...become one?”

That caught Crowley’s attention. His ridiculous curls atop his head bounced as he quickly looked up in surprise. “What?  _ No _ ! What kind of question is that?”

“Well you needn’t get worked up over it. I was simply asking.”

“Ngk, eh, yea, well, neh. Don’t!” Sputtered Crowley, nearly spilling his own coffee in the process. “Why’d you even  _ ask _ something like that?”

Aziraphale sat, poking at his crepe. His appetite diminished by Crowley’s horrified reaction. Part of him wanted to wave it off as just a minor curiosity, while the other part of him longed to explain to Crowley the pervasive thoughts and memories he’d been having. To tell Crowley that he wasn’t sure why he thought it, but he felt as if perhaps there had been a gap in his memory that was slowly beginning to fill itself in. To relay the hope that perhaps, just maybe, the blankness of his existence before the war was a little less bleak than he remembered. 

In the end, he compromised. 

“Oh, I don’t know. A Joined demon could be rather powerful, I expect. Thought I’d ask. Oh! Yes! Gabriel. Yes, Gabriel was wondering if I’d sensed any Joined demons on Earth. Of course I told him  _ no _ . It did make me wonder, though.”

Crowley stared at him for a moment, mouth slightly slacked. Aziraphale was a  _ terrible _ liar and they both knew it. Thankfully, Crowley ignored the lie and continued with his original train of thought. “So, you decided to ask me? Of all people,  _ me _ ?

Frustration and embarrassment rose up in Aziraphale. He shifted in his seat, the stolen clothes of his would-be executioner made him squirm uncomfortably. Appetite completely dissolved, he pushed the plate away and folded his hands in his lap. It was a weak attempt to hide the way they were shaking and how foolish he suddenly felt. 

“You needn’t make such a fuss about it, Crowley. It was only a question.”

Another sputtering and stammering noise bubbled out of Crowley, the way it always would when he got worked up and flustered. Aziraphale usually found it endearing. Usually. 

“It’s not  _ only _ a question, Aziraphale! It’s a ridiculous question! It...that...it’s as ridiculous as asking you if you’ve ever had sex, the human way. That’s how ridiculous it is!”

“Why would  _ that _ be a ridiculous question?”

It seemed as if time had suddenly forgotten how to work itself. The air hung still and stagnant around them, even the flowers and trees appeared to be holding their breath. Birds stopped singing and the quiet conversation of the table next to theirs stopped cold. Nothing moved. Not even Crowley. Not right away, at least. 

Something seemed to cross Crowley’s face when he finally did place his hands, palms down, on the table and leaned in across it. It was an expression Aziraphale hadn’t ever seen before on his friend’s face, and couldn’t for the life of him name it. It was blank, almost expressionless, but with an underlying...anger, maybe? Though, he couldn’t for the life of him understand why that would be. 

When Crowley spoke, his words were low, his usually well concealed hiss coming through. 

“What issss that sssssuppossssed to mean,  _ angel _ ?”

“Exactly as I said. Why would asking if I’ve had sex the human way be a ridiculous question?” 

“Becausssse you’re an  _ angel _ , for Sssatan’s sssake! You don’t… wouldn’t… that isssn’t…  _ have you _ ?”

Aziraphale sat silent for a moment and simply stared at Crowley. His silence only served to make Crowley edgier and more irritated. Which was the point, after all. Finally though, he picked up his cup and took a small sip before he shook his head. 

“No, Crowley, I have not. There are some parts of the human experience that I haven’t quite decided if I want to take part in or not. That  _ particular  _ experience happens to be one of them,” he set his cup back down before meeting Crowley’s eyes once more. “Have  _ you _ ?”

As if someone had pulled the lever on the gallows, time whirled back into action and took it’s revenge out on Aziraphale. Gravity fell out from under him when Crowley sat back with a nonchalant shrug, his sudden and unexplainable anger seemingly gone in an instant. 

“Course I have. Lots of times. Demon, ‘member? What kind of demon would I be if I hadn’t?”

For reasons unknown, Aziraphale felt his heart sink at those words. Of course Crowley would have partaken in pleasures of the flesh. It wouldn’t have surprised him to learn that Casanova had in fact been Crowley in disguise. Seducing all those women of society, no matter what their marital status was. He’d no doubt have taken several lovers to bed with him. The thought pulled at Aziraphale, causing an ache inside he couldn’t explain. It felt like a betrayal for some reason. 

Eyes down cast, he suddenly felt even more foolish. 

“Of course you have,” he mumbled, not daring to look up. “I suppose that was the reason you were in the area, then?”

Crowley gave a sharp laugh and leaned back in his chair once again. “No, I could have sex just as easily in London as I could here. Hell of a long way to go just to have a stitch, don’t you think?” 

“Oh, how should I know?” 

“Eh…” Crowley shrugged. 

The pair sat across from each other for a time in quiet introspection. He stared out over the water and tried to gather his thoughts. Why had it upset him to think of Crowley being with someone? That Crowley would be so open to trying something that was so innately human. Was it the fact that Crowley had decided to have sex at all that was upsetting? Or was it that he’d first experienced it with a human? Or that he’d even done it at all? 

He was still lost in thought when Crowley shifted awkwardly in his seat and cleared his throat gently. “You could try it, y’know?”

Aziraphale turned wide eyes on him in disbelief. “Try what?”

“Sex.” The answer was short and to the point. Enough that it nearly startled Aziraphale. 

“What? No.” 

“Would help you relax a bit.”

“I don’t need any help to relax, thank you very much. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and finding my own methods of relaxation.”

With another shrug of his shoulders, Crowley pushed himself up and away from the table. Their visit had come to an apparent end. Aziraphale didn’t know if he should be relieved or saddened. A relieved sadness, then. A couple of coins landed on the table in front of him. Crowley had decided to pay the bill after all. When Aziraphale looked up, he met Crowley’s eyes, the golden yellow peeking over the rim of his glasses as he leaned down nearly nose to nose with him. 

“Try it sometime,” he said in a soft, hushed voice. “Just...make sure it’s with someone who deserves you.” 

Before Aziraphale had a chance to blink, Crowley was half way down the street and disappearing around a corner. What Crowley had just said didn’t make sense. It sounded almost as if he was resigned and thought the person could never be him. Pain and longing twisted in Aziraphale’s stomach. 

A flush raced up Aziraphale’s cheeks and he wondered if Crowley was even slightly aware of what his closeness had done to Aziraphale and the ideas he had put into his mind. Maybe one day he’d take Crowley’s advice and try it. Having sex, that is. Perhaps one day he’d find someone who cared about him, as Crowley had said. Even if the idea of it being with someone else sat cold and unsettling in his stomach.

Sitting alone at the small table, Aziraphale wondered -- not for the first time -- how Crowley had even come to find him in that prison cell. Not that Aziraphale wasn’t grateful, because he was, very much so, it just confused him. He sat and considered the way his corporeal form responded to hearing Crowley’s voice behind him. Relief, certainly, but there had been more to it than that. Relief, excitement, awe, thinly veiled intrigue and a desire to be close to him that Aziraphale could not explain. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered to himself,  _ Someone like you? _

~*~*~*~

Crowley had decided that the 19th century, despite (or perhaps because of) all the leaps and bounds the humans were making with technology, could just rot in the deepest, darkest, dankest, most horror-filled pit that Hell had to offer. It could take the 14th century with it. Absolute rubbish. And all because of Aziraphale’s stubbornness and outright refusal to listen to him, to understand what he was asking. Instead, the damnable angel jumped right to conclusions. 

They’d had rows before, but never like this. Never with such malice and hurtful words being flung about. Never with the  _ intention _ to cause the other pain. For reasons beyond his understanding, Crowley had never wanted to hurt Aziraphale. The fact that he had made him feel like the worst slime to slither the Earth. He’d damn himself a thousand more times if he thought it’d be enough to quell the pain he kept buried deep inside himself for a whole decade. The pain was enough that he’d holed himself up in his expensive suite at the top of the most elite and expensive hotel London had to offer at the time, and stayed curled in his bed sleeping for the next fifteen years, hoping that when he awoke, he and Aziraphale would be fine again and things could go back to normal. 

Normal had become... _ nice _ . A word Crowley detested using, but it was true. Once a month they’d meet for lunch, catch up, maybe trade assignments as stealthily as possible, and then that would be it. It’d become routine. 

Then the row happened. 

_ “Do you know what Heaven would do if they knew I’d been...fraternizing with you?” _

_ “Fraternizing?” _

_ “Oh whatever you wish to call it! I do not think there is any need to continue this conversation any further.” _

_ “I have lots of other people to fraternize with, angel.” _

_ “Oh of course you do!” _

_ “I don’t need you.” _

_ “And the feeling is mutual. Obviously!” _

_ “Obviously…” _

Over and over and over in his restless napping those words tumbled around in his head. The way he’d spat the word  _ Fraternizing _ with more venom than he’d ever possessed in his serpent form. How he’d leaned into  _ angel _ with a sharp sword tip, like it was the most vile word in existence to him. 

Such horrible, painful words thrown at each other, striking where they knew it would hurt the most and do the most damage. That was the problem with close friendships. It was dangerous to know someone so well that one could pick out the weak spots in their armor of trust in you, thrust your dagger into their heart and give it a good twist. To tell Aziraphale that he’d had other people to  _ fraternize _ with, to let the angel assume it meant he had other people to turn to, other friends. To drink wine and dine with, to debate and laugh with, to take to bed or be taken to bed by. It didn’t matter. So long as Aziraphale felt hurt -- which he did -- Crowley didn’t care. 

His own heart still hurt at Aziraphale’s accusations, but Crowley had put on a brave face, dressed in his finest clothes (not quite outdated just yet, but getting close, he’d have to fix that soon) and set out for a tiny bookshop on a corner in Soho. Armed with chocolates and flowers, because he was nothing if not a bit dramatic, he made his way through the streets and up the front steps of the shop and froze.

The sign on the door was flipped to closed, not a surprise there, but what was a surprise was what had been happening inside the shop. Aziraphale had the brightest smile on his face and was talking excitedly about something or other to someone Crowley couldn’t see. Not yet, at least. Still, Aziraphale looked so happy, so content in his little bookshop, that Crowley wondered if he was doing the right thing. Demons didn’t actually apologize, after all.

Then it happened. 

He saw it with his own two eyes.

Another man was in the shop with Aziraphale, a fond smile on his face as he watched Aziraphale talk. Crowley had never seen the man before, but he could tell just by looking at him that the man was of a...certain persuasion. And just then that persuasion was zero’d in on Aziraphale. 

“What are you doing, angel?” He muttered to himself as he fought to keep his nerves from rattling too hard. “You  _ never _ let people into your shop after close.” 

Well, except for Crowley. Even then, it hadn’t happened recently. 

The chocolates slowly began to melt in the box he’d carefully set them in. The flowers trembled in his clenched fist as Crowley continued to watch the scene unfold in front of him. The man -- tall, fair skin, dark hair that was too long to be appropriate for the time -- moved slowly towards Aziraphale until they were standing nearly flush. A bashful smile tugged at Aziraphale’s lips as he looked down to where the man had taken his hands and then back up again through his gorgeous lashes. Then…

The flowers shriveled and died in an instant, the petals in sad heaps on the ground by his feet. The chocolates and their box burst into a minor flame, just enough to destroy them both. 

_ No _ , his mind cried,  _ No...no...what are you doing, Aziraphale? What… _

Absolute horror raced through Crowley as he watched the two engage in an amorous kiss. A kiss Aziraphale had initiated . He’d slipped his arms over the shoulders of the other man, hands clasped behind his neck so that his fingers could play with that dark hair. Then, leaning on his toes, Aziraphale had  _ kissed him _ ! The man had pulled him flush to his body and let his hands wander down from his back to his hips to the gentle swell of his backside…

Pain lanced through Crowley at that. Unimaginable pain that felt like it was tearing him apart from the inside. He fell to his knees outside the bookshop doors and sobbed softly. A very undignified position for a demon to be in at any time, but more so in public where any one could see him. Something deep inside him broke, snapped under the considerable amount of strain it had already been under. He could feel the lust and the want and the  _ desire _ rushing out of the shop like a runaway train, it hadn’t just been coming from the human male, either. It came from Aziraphale. 

He felt their presence leave the bookshop and reappear in the flat above it. Excitement and wonder that came from Aziraphale made him feel sick. His heart crumbled like the petals of his flowers. It was his own fault, he knew that, it didn’t make it hurt any less, though!

_ No...please no...please...please...don’t do this, angel. Don’t do this to me. I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I lied! I really don’t have other people to fraternize with! Please...please, angel!  _

It felt like being pulled down into Hell all over again. Only this time, there was an empty place inside him that hadn’t been there before. 

_ Was this what it felt like for you?  _ He wondered mournfully as he slowly got to his feet.  _ Did you feel this pain when I was taken to bed that first time?  _ Crowley placed his hand flat on the pane of glass in the door and rested his forehead next to it, eyes closed to hide the tears that threatened to fall.  _ Were you suffering this much when I gave in to my loneliness?  _ When he’d found solace in the young man of court that bore such a resemblance to Aziraphale that he’d wept after because he  _ wasn’t  _ Aziraphale?

_ I’m sorry, angel! I’m sorry… _

In his expensive suite at the top floor of the most expensive and elite hotel London had to offer, Crowley used a considerable amount of demonic miracles to have the world forget the top floor even existed. No one would venture up the stairs to knock on his room and call out housekeeping to him. The building could burn down for all Crowley cared, with him still inside it, huddled in an extraordinary number of blankets and pillows, coiled up on himself and vowing not to wake again. Ever.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with the minor bit of potential dub-con. Aziraphale's mind is just somewhere completely else and lost in thoughts of some _one_ else when his partner decides they want to go another round.

Aziraphale sighed heavily as he stared down at his hands. He didn’t want to admit to being lonely, especially not in the company present at that moment, but he was. So dreadfully, dreadfully lonely. Things hadn’t been the same since Oscar had passed on. Nor when Robbie went, or Alfred, or anyone else he’d met in that delightful gentlemen’s club all those years ago. They had been friends, all of them, and had taught him so many things no other humans had dared attempt. 

Yes, Aziraphale admitted without shame, he had even allowed Oscar to bed him. His first experience in human sex. First experience in sex, period, he supposed. It had been nice, but it had still felt off for some reason. Oh, he’d enjoyed himself, don’t be mistaken, and Oscar had been a proper gentleman, but...it still didn’t feel quite like he’d expected it would. There was no connection made, no deep bonding and sharing of souls. It felt...impersonal instead of intimate. An act served only to experience pleasure and rid oneself from certain aches. 

His second experience hadn’t really been much better. Though, that one was still rather new, so perhaps there was a chance it could change. It still felt impersonal, though. Almost...business like. It left Aziraphale with an unsettled feeling in his stomach and longing for his best friend. 

Even if said best friend had decided he no longer needed him. Just as he said he didn’t all those years ago in St. James Park. 

Warmth pressed against his back as small, dainty hands slid over his sides and came to rest low on his stomach. Low enough that his traitorous corporeal form twitched with interest. He’d never been fond of people pressing against his back, it made him feel all too vulnerable and caused a pressure to form in his chest he couldn’t explain. As discreetly as he could, he turned on the bed and set those hands down beside his hip and shifted so the pressure lifted. 

“We need to leave soon…”

“I know,” Aziraphale answered softly, tugging the blanket around himself a little bit more. “Are you certain this is going to work? Those books took me ages to find and should something happen--”

“Shhhh…” a thin finger pressed to his lips, silencing him before he could start to ramble worriedly. “The  _ books _ will be  _ fine _ , Ezra. Everything is arranged and ready to go.”

Something cold settled in the bottom of his stomach. He did his best to ignore it and instead focus on the finger that had gone from his lips, to his neck, down his chest and back up again. It sent shivers down his spine and blast his corporeal form for taking  _ extreme _ interest in the movements of only one single finger. One finger that could silence him. That could press him back down onto the bed, flat on his back. One dainty finger that could give bodily pleasure or mild pain, depending on her mood. 

Hips straddled his and those soft hands pressed against his chest to steady herself. Aziraphale swallowed thickly, struggling to keep his mind from wandering off without him again. 

“R-Rose…? I thought you said we needed to leave soon?”

Rose Montgomery tilted her head to one side, letting her soft brown curls fall off her shoulder as she smiled down at him. As she lowered herself down slowly, a low moan of pleasure and a gasp filling the air from woman and angel respectively, she leaned down to press a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. 

“There’s a war outside these walls, Ezra,” she murmured against his lips. “Anything could happen. Just one more time, in case it might be our last?”

With unease still surging in his stomach, Aziraphale closed his eyes and focused all that he had on keeping up the effort. His mind and thoughts were occupied elsewhere and he wasn’t particularly in the mood for her to take her pleasure on him again, but she did have a point. Without giving it much thought at all, Aziraphale settled his hands on her hips, and helped her along. She was rather beautiful, he had to admit that. All soft, smooth, milky skin bathed in the silvery light of the moon drifting in through their hotel window. The gentle way her curls tumbled down around her face and over her bare shoulders brought to mind the image of another with milky skin and dark curls.

Hours later, after Aziraphale found he was in fact the one who’d been played for a sucker, after Crowley had come to his rescue yet again -- even after their horrible fight so many decades ago -- after Aziraphale had cobbled the poor battered pieces of his little angelic heart back together, he found himself standing in the rubble of a bombed out church. Crowley had saved him from an unfortunate discorporation. He’d come swanning in, hot stepping down the aisle of a church, risking his own safety to get to Aziraphale before anything could happen to him. Some would compare him to a knight in shining armor, risking total destruction -- not just discorporation, but to be utterly destroyed -- by walking onto consecrated ground to get to him. 

He didn’t want to think about how or why the Nazis knew Crowley. Why they referred to him as “the famous Mr. Crowley” and spoke of how his fame proceeded him. That way lay madness, no doubt about it. All Aziraphale could think about was how Crowley had decided to give himself a proper first name, and even the allusion of a middle name. It was so human, so simple, so...so  _ Crowley _ . Anthony seemed to suit him rather well, at that. After all, St. Anthony was the patron saint of lost things, lost causes, which was a bit ironic given that Crowley was one of the Fallen. The ones considered lost. Aziraphale tried not to think about any of those things. 

Hat in his hands, he looked about the rubble before allowing his eyes to light upon Crowley. The demon was leaning nonchalantly against what had once been a wall, idly cleaning his sunglasses. Maybe...maybe Crowley  _ was _ a knight in shining armor after all. Well, maybe not shining armor, more like a very smart three piece suit with stylish fedora to match. But it was close enough right then. 

It was silly to think that a demon could be a savior. No self-respecting demon would be caught dead doing what Crowley had done. They would have been there helping the Nazi spies, not tapdancing their way down the aisle to save an angel’s life. Yet, Crowley had done just that and Aziraphale didn’t know how to deal with it. He wanted to apologize for being a nuisance. To apologize for the things he’d said nearly 80 years earlier. He wanted to beg Crowley not to leave him. Instead, he found himself deflecting yet again. 

“That was very kind of you,” Aziraphale finally said, letting his eyes settle on Crowley. He watched as Crowley made a face before slipping his glasses back over his eyes. 

“Shut up,” he grumbled, though Aziraphale swore he saw a slight uptick of his mouth, just a tiny bit that would be a smile if Crowley allowed it to be. 

“Well, it was. No paperwork for a start,” Aziraphale’s eyes suddenly went wide, his jaw dropping as he looked around, raking a hand through his hair. “Oh the books!” he wailed, “Oh, I forgot all the books! Oh...they’ll all be blown to…”

Suddenly, there was Crowley standing in front of him, holding the leather bag Mr. Harmony had tucked the books of prophecy into. It was completely intact, not so much as a scruff or speck of dust on it. Aziraphale’s heart stopped beating, his eyes locked not on the books but on Crowley’s face as they were handed off to him. Fingers brushing for just a few seconds longer than necessary. 

“Little demonic miracle of my own,” explained Crowley as he ducked his head and turned to walk away, calling over his shoulder as he went, “Lift home?”

Something had Aziraphale frozen in his spot. Everything felt so right and so very wrong at the same time. Crowley had rescued not only Aziraphale, but his books too. He’d kept them both from harm even at the risk of his own life. It didn’t make sense, and he longed for it to make sense. Why would Crowley do that? Why did Crowley  _ always _ do that? He always appeared whenever Aziraphale needed him most, whenever it seemed Aziraphale was in for an unpleasant discorporation or was distressed about current situations, Crowley was there. 

More than that, though, Aziraphale found himself frozen in place by a realization. Something that felt like a flood gate being opened inside his mind and his heart. He loved him. Not just in that general way all angels were supposed to love all of God’s creatures, but in a very human way. He didn’t just  _ love _ Crowley. It was more than that, he was  _ in love _ with him. Yes...yes that felt  _ right _ . Something inside him crowed in triumph. He had  _ fallen in love _ with Crowley. In that moment, it was the least terrifying revelation he’d ever had. It just felt so right and good and pure. It tugged at those thoughts and memories he had of the time before the Fall. Memories of a time when he was just a small, lowly angel, picked on and bullied by the Archangels who thought themselves better than everyone else. Of a time when he loved and was loved. 

He remembered when She came to him, wiping his tears and healing his bruises after Gabriel and the others had stolen the scroll he’d been told to guard. How she’d taken him in her arms and carried him to the workshop of the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. An Archangel that would come to mean so much to him. He couldn’t see the face of the Archangel, they were still blurry and out of focus, but he could feel them. Feel their love and acceptance and boundless energy. 

Feel that love break, feel the agony as it burned out of him.

In that moment, holding those books and standing in what once was a place of holy worship, Aziraphale felt his love for Crowley and that burning in his chest warring with each other. It hurt in so many ways. He wanted to laugh, to sing to the Heavens that he’d fallen in love, but at the same time he wanted to cry, to sob and curl up on himself until the pain went away again. She no doubt did not approve of one of her angels developing feelings for a demon -- even if the demon wasn’t very good at his job, and the angel in question wasn’t a whole lot better at his own. Friendship was bad enough, but to be  _ in love _ with the original Tempter of Eve? Oh...oh Aziraphale was done for. 

“Angel? Are you planning to stand there all night and getting yourself discorporated or what?” Crowley called, voice tense but teasing. “If you get yourself discorporated after everything I just did, I swear I’m never saving you ever again.”

Crowley’s hollow threat was enough to snap Aziraphale out of his thoughts and bring him back to himself. He swallowed thickly as he shook his head. 

“Yes, I mean, no. I mean...yes, I...I would appreciate a lift home. If it’s not too much trouble.” 

He moved as carefully as he could across the shattered pieces of glass, the broken statues and splintered pews. Crowley was waiting by a shiny car, no doubt included in some demonic miracle to keep from being damaged by flying debris. Aziraphale wasn’t much for cars, he preferred to walk wherever he needed to get to, or to take the bus if needed, but when he saw the gleaming black and grey reflecting the pale light of the moon, he had to admit it was beautiful and seemed to suit Crowley perfectly. Sleek and glamorous, demanding attention while at the same time giving off the air of not wanting to be touched. 

“When did you learn to drive?” He asked, finally making it to the waiting passenger side of the car. 

Crowley gave a half shrug and noncommittal sound as he shut the door and moved to slide into the driver’s seat. Aziraphale didn’t like the lack of answer, but didn’t push the subject further. 

“Had the car long?”

“Eh...yeh, uh, guess so? Far as cars go, at least, I suspect. Bought it new in ‘26.” 

“Ah…” Aziraphale gripped his bag of books tight in his hands as Crowley made their way back across town to Aziraphale’s bookshop. 

The pull and burning surged in his chest as he sat in such an enclosed area with Crowley. He wondered, even if just for the shortest moment, if Crowley felt anything similar. It was foolish and ridiculous to think that he did, of course. Demons didn’t feel love, couldn’t feel love. The ability to love had been ripped from them when they fell from Grace. But there was a tightness in Crowley’s face that had Aziraphale wondering if maybe that wasn’t entirely true. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel and his lips pinched in a severe frown. Every so often he’d suck in a deep breath and grimace like he were in pain. 

As they got closer to the bookshop, Aziraphale turned in his seat and frowned. “How did you know where to find me?”

Crowley glanced out the corner of his eye, just out the side of his sunglasses, and opened his mouth to answer. It closed, opened again, and once more closed before he simply shrugged. “Dunno. Just...suppose I heard about some foolish bookseller who was taking first editions to some second rate Nazi spies and thought, ‘Yeah, that sounds about like him.’ Sure enough, there you were.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure he believed that answer, but he let it go as he turned to face forward again and adjusted his grip on the bag. The fingers on his right hand still tingled from where they had slid across Crowley’s. It wasn’t the first time they’d touched, they’d been around each other for nearly six thousand years after all, it would be hard to spend that much time around each other and not so much as brush against one another, but it still felt different. It felt more important, somehow. 

“How did  _ you _ wind up in that mess, anyway?” Crowley finally asked, a glance tossed his way before he looked back to the road. 

Heat rose up on Aziraphale’s cheeks. He felt so foolish, so gullible. Just like Rose, just like  _ Greta _ , had said he was. So very, very gullible. To think that anyone could have feelings for him like that? That they would look at him and find him worthy enough to be with, smart enough to pull off a stunt like double crossing Nazis. How foolish he had been! 

He fidgeted in his seat, eyes darting from the bag in his lap to the empty shells of buildings that had once made up homes and businesses. The truth was not going to go over well. Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to even try to explain, so he didn’t. 

He changed the subject instead. 

“How do you plan to justify saving an angel and his books to your side?” 

“I made a  _ bomb _ land on a  _ church _ . My people aren’t going to even care who or what was inside it. I destroyed a house of God. I’ll get a commendation for that. Probably two or three, actually. Destroyed church, sent three souls straight down, robbed from the dead. Yeah, three commendations sound ‘bout right.” 

Aziraphale didn’t say anything more about that. He didn’t say anything. He just sat quiet in his seat, frowning and shifting uncomfortably until they rolled to a stop in front of the bookshop. One of the few buildings in London still standing completely untouched. Aziraphale had been using so many miracles to keep his little corner of the world safe from bombings. He’d come to be rather fond of his neighbors, their businesses, and the people who would wander into his shop. Even if he didn’t particularly enjoy them thumbing through his books and daring to ask to purchase one. 

He was a worse bookseller than he was angel. 

The Bentley idled quietly, it dared not make too much noise, they were under a black out after all. Too much noise, too much light and they’d be found out. Beside him, Crowley drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. It didn’t seem like he was doing it out of impatience, but Aziraphale had a hard time believing the demon was nervous. 

“Would you like to come in?” asked Aziraphale softly. “Just until the air raid is over? Wouldn’t do any good, you risking your life for me just to be discorporated on your way home. Again.” He gave a small smirk. Oh it was so very long again, but for decades Aziraphale had been haunted by the image of Crowley being killed by a flaming boulder because of him.

Crowley’s head shot around and his mouth hung just slightly open as he stared at Aziraphale. With the dark lenses covering his eyes, it was impossible to know just what those serpentine eyes held. The way his brows had jumped clear to his hairline, causing his forehead to wrinkle in the most endearing way, said enough. He was startled, surprised by the invitation.

He stammered for a moment, the ability to form words gone it seemed, before he finally just turned the car off and nodded. 

“Ngk…”

It wasn’t much of an answer, wasn’t even a word as far as Aziraphale knew, but it served its purpose. They walked together, Crowley keeping just a step behind as he had always done, and slipped into the darkened bookshop without a word uttered between them. 

Aziraphale set his books down next to the till and snapped, lighting the scattered candle sconces to give them just enough light to see by. By the flickering flames he watched Crowley wander the shop aimlessly before settling down on the sofa Aziraphale had set up near a window. His own little alcove to relax and read in when his body protested being stuck to his wooden desk chair for days on end. 

The last time Aziraphale had been in his bookshop, he’d allowed himself to be seduced by a woman he thought had grown to care deeply for him. He’d let her kiss him, to run her fingers through his hair and down his chest before whispering in his ear for him to take her to bed. He wasn’t proud of his slip in judgment. Not remotely proud. He’d been lonely, though. So horribly lonely and nothing seemed to be making it any easier. Until she had appeared and began talking to him, laughing with him, pouring over books with him well into the early hours of the day. Aziraphale wouldn’t say he’d been in love, that just wasn’t right, but her company had soothed him on some level. Even if it had all been a lie in the end. 

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, then moved to retrieve a bottle of the best vintage he had available, two glasses, and made his way back to where Crowley was sprawled on the settee. 

“You never answered my question,” Crowley prompted, nodding his head in thanks as he picked up his glass of wine. “How did you wind up in that mess?”

“I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.”

Crowley shrugged one shoulder as he nodded. “Right. Sure. Were you really going to give away  _ books _ , though? Just, hand them over without a thought --”

“I was tricked!” Aziraphale finally snapped, a tremor in his voice that he couldn’t stop. “I thought I was going to be doing some good. That I would be helping to bring in a couple of Nazis. Get them off the streets so they couldn’t hurt anyone else.” 

Crowley sat back, head tilted to one side, all of his attention focused in on Aziraphale. Who had begun to pace around the shop in agitation. 

“I  _ failed _ , Crowley. Rose...Greta...whatever her name was, every word out of her mouth was a lie, and I believed them all. Down to the very last one, I believed she cared about me and that we were doing the right thing and when we had Mr. Harmony and Mr. Glozier, we’d come back here to celebrate and…” he trailed off, not able to bring himself to admit to anything else. Instead, he simply whimpered, “I’m a poor excuse for an angel…”

In an instant, hands were on his shoulders and he’d been brought to a complete stop. Crowley had sprung like the dangerous snake he was and caught his prey in a crushing grip. Aziraphale merely hiccuped softly. Others might find Crowley dangerous, but not Aziraphale. Never Aziraphale. He knew Crowley would never purposely hurt him. So he hadn’t been the least bit startled when he found himself staring into a pair of golden yellow eyes, not so much of a hint of white around the edges. 

Crowley growled low in the back of his throat. “You are  _ not _ a poor excuse for an angel. You’re not a failure. Understand me?”

Aziraphale hiccuped again and looked away. 

To hear Crowley tell him he was not a failure, not a poor excuse for an angel, well, he just didn’t think that possible. 

“Are you listening to me, Aziraphale?”

No, actually, he hadn’t been. With a soft sniffle, he nodded anyway and looked up to meet Crowley’s eyes again. The burning in his chest grew stronger the more they stared at each other. It burned and twisted and coiled in on itself. Crowley felt it too, he was sure of it now. He could see the internal torment in his eyes. The repressed urge to break down and sob and beg for it to stop hurting. Whatever  _ it _ was. 

“Yes, fine, you’re gullible, but that’s just part of who you  _ are _ ! You try to look for the best in everyone, even if they don’t deserve it, and that’s great! That’s wonderful! But it gets you into trouble some times. That doesn’t make you a failure. If anything, that...it…” Crowley trailed off, stammering as he tried to think of the right words. “It makes you more  _ human _ !”

“But I’m  _ not _ a human, Crowley. I’m an  _ angel _ . A  _ Principality!  _ I was the guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden. I led a whole platoon in the first War in Heaven. I…” 

Pain sliced through his head again. The burning in his chest grew hotter, keeping him from continuing his line of thought. He closed his eyes against the pain and leaned in, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder helplessly. If asked, he would say it was from the stress of the last twenty-four hours. That he’d over extended himself and the need to rest had finally caught up to him. Which was nearly true. 

Arms wrapped around him and held him close in a protective embrace. He just couldn’t bring his own arms up to wrap around Crowley’s waist in return. Everything had become a bit more than he could stand. Literally. His knees shook and threatened to drop him to the floor if Crowley even so much as loosened his hold. It was fortuitous then that Crowley led them back to the couch and sat them both down, his arms staying protectively around Aziraphale. 

“Shh...shh...it’s alright. It’s alright…” Crowley’s voice breathed through Aziraphale’s hair, bringing comfort to him in some small way. “I don’t think being human would be a bad thing, y’know? Sure it would be short and there’s no coming back from it if someone say, dropped an entire ancient church down on your head.”

Aziraphale huffed a startled laugh at that and wiped at his eyes with the handkerchief he’d miracled while Crowley continued talking. 

“It’d be easy for you to blend into the human population, even if you’re stuck in the Victorian era. You’d be seen as just that ecentric bookshop owner who never actually sold any books.”

They sat quietly on the couch, cuddled close together as the world seemingly ended around them. It felt like it should have been the end of the world.  _ Could have _ been. All the bombs, so many people dying, and for what? Bragging rights? It was all terrible and Aziraphale did not like any of it one bit. He kept his face buried in Crowley’s chest, his arms finally moving to cling to him like a shipwrecked sailor to a piece of wood, struggling to stay afloat. When he did speak at last, his voice was muffled and almost too quiet to be heard. 

“How did you find me, Crowley? How do you always find me? You always know exactly where I am and when I need help. How?”

Crowley shifted in place, under the guise of trying to get comfortable with an armful of fluffy angel. He cleared his throat and shrugged again -- Aziraphale knew he did, he felt it against his cheek. 

“Told you. Heard a bookseller was--”

“Fine, yes, but what about the other times? Every time I’ve needed you, you’ve suddenly appeared out of nowhere. How? Why?”

“I don’t know. Just...luck, I guess? I don’t know.” Crowley grumbled back, an edge to his voice asking,  _ pleading _ , with Aziraphale to be patient with him. To let it drop and not to ask that again. He gave a faint curse under his breath and pulled away, pushing himself to his feet again. “I sense it, alright? I don’t know how, I don’t know why, I just...always seem to know when you’re in trouble or distressed and...I suddenly know exactly where to go. It’s like...you have some kind of homing beacon on you or something. Almost like--”

“Like we’re connected somehow? Like the stories of the Joined ones are? Do you think--”

Crowley stumbled backwards, knocking into a stack of books on the floor and sent them tumbling to the ground. He cursed again and stooped to pick the books up, busy work to keep him from meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. At Crowley’s sudden retreat, the burning in his chest surged forward with vengeance once more. It had been fine so long as Crowley held onto him, which was just one more mystery Aziraphale wished to solve someday. 

“Air raid is over,” Crowley rushed to explain, waving his hand towards the window as all the blinds and curtains opened again, letting the pale moonlight in around them. “I should...I need to go. Business to take care of, y’know? Keep yourself out of trouble..”

As Aziraphale watched Crowley turn and saunter to the door as casually as possible, he couldn’t help but wonder why it was that Crowley always ran whenever he brought up the Joined ones. Something about the idea of two ethereal beings having found their, for all intents and purposes, soulmate and binding themselves together seemed to upset Crowley and make him uncomfortable. He wondered, almost sadly, if perhaps Crowley had been Joined before he fell. That would explain some things. 

Aziraphale knew he himself hadn’t been Joined with anyone. He’d been reminded several times throughout the centuries that he wasn’t good enough to have anyone give him so much as a passing glance. Gabriel and Michael were quick to remind him of that. Sandalphon in particular seemed to find enjoyment in letting Aziraphale know just where he stood. Not that he needed it - he remembers how lonely he was, how utterly isolated he was from his brethren he trained with. He was an undesirable angel. He didn’t conform to their ideas of how an angel should look or act. He didn’t even have friends, let alone a partner to be Joined 

Crowley though? Oh, Aziraphale felt certain that Crowley could have been Joined when he’d still been an angel. He was smart, attractive, loyal...any angel no doubt would have fallen at his feet for a chance to be able to Join themselves with him. Aziraphale couldn’t blame them. If he’d known Crowley before, well, he probably would have just been lucky to admire him from afar. 

Yes. That had to be why Crowley always shied away from talking about them. 

Aziraphale made a heartbreaking mental note not to bring them up again. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Crowley somehow. 

He would pack his feelings for Crowley away in a neat little box, tie it with a length of twine, and place it in the back of his mind so as not to risk opening it again. He could be Crowley’s friend, had been for centuries now. Crowley never needed to know that a hapless angel had fallen in love with him. It would be fine. 

It would. Absolutely tickety-boo.

He’d just have to keep telling himself that until he believed it.


	10. Chapter 10

The pain was nearly unbearable. Fear and sadness and pain, so much pain. Then...nothing. Crowley couldn’t feel a damned thing. Not a  _ thing _ . He’d rushed from his flat in Mayfair as soon as he’d dealt with Hastur and Ligur, and broke every land speed record to get to Aziraphale’s bookshop in Soho. He was used to feeling the fear and sadness coming from Aziraphale, he’d been feeling it for years and years and years. It was how he’d always known when his angel was in trouble. It was the sudden and deafening silence that came over him that had him panicking. 

He couldn’t  _ feel _ Aziraphale anymore. He could  _ always _ feel him. Right from the start he’d been able to feel him. It was part of what had drawn him to slither up that wall and take shape next to him all those years ago in Eden. The pull, the need to be close to him, to make sure he was okay. It was gone. 

Flames licked up towards the sky from the windows of the flat above the bookshop. Thick plumes of black smoke turned the dreary day into night as Crowley rolled to a stop at the corner and pulled himself out of his car. He didn’t even bother to stop when the firefighter called out to him.

“Are you the owner of this establishment?”

“Do I look like I run a bookshop?” Crowley snarled back at him. Honestly. Crowley looked the furthest thing from a bookshop owner, but oh...oh how he’d loved the owner of this particular one dearly. Loved the bookshop as if it were his own. Had spent so many wonderful nights there with an angel. 

It didn’t matter if the humans saw him snap his fingers in order for the shop doors to open on their own. He didn’t care. None of it mattered any more. Nothing did. Not until he found Aziraphale. 

It wasn’t the heat of the burning bookshop that had Crowley sweating, it was the fear. Nothing about the flames marked it as demonic Hellfire, but it wasn’t exactly pure, ordinary fire either. There was an undercurrent there, he felt it. A holy feeling. Angel had lit the candles or something, he’d truly been trying to get in contact with God. Stupid,  _ stupid _ angel! Crowley had warned him! He’d said that God wasn’t talking to any of them! That she’d stopped caring about them and humanity. 

Aziraphale had huffed at that, of course.

“Aziraphale! Aziraphale, where the Heaven are you, you idiot?! I can’t find you!”

Shelves collapsed around him, shooting sparks and embers into the air. Glass shattered and the brass sconces warped into distorted impressions of what they’d once been. It was an inferno, plain and simple. An all consuming fire that didn’t care what it touched or where it went. Pages from books and Aziraphale’s ridiculous little research projects fluttered down from the second floor, scattering down at his feet. 

“For God’s--for Satan’s--GAH! For SOMEBODY’S SAKE,  _ where are you _ ?” 

Panic roared in his ears louder than the angry screams of the fire around him. He had to find Aziraphale, he  _ had  _ to! He needed to apologize, to hug him close, to tell him how he felt. That he’d fallen in love with him, Heaven be damned and Hell be blessed, he’d fallen in love with him.

Now it was too late. Aziraphale was gone. His angel was gone. The summoning circle painted into the floor still pulsed with energy, even if only faintly, but it was enough to throw Crowley off and get himself shot back by a jet stream of water crashing through the window across from him. 

“Oh...Aziraphale…” he whimpered once he finally was able to push himself up into a sitting position. “You’ve gone…”

His chest ached from more than the blast of water. It ached for a presence no longer there. A presence he’d likely never feel again. It felt like falling all over again. 

A rush washed over him, then. Powerful and painful. Memories from Before. From when he’d been an angel. No, he’d been more than that, what had he been? He hadn’t been just an angel, He’d been...been...oh it was right there! Right at the edge of his memory! Why couldn’t he think of it? 

“Right,” the word fell out of his mouth as barely more than a sob. “I’m done. I’ve had it.” 

He sniffled loudly and gripped at his chest, desperately trying to force the ache to go away. 

“I don’t care about any bloody angels, or demons, or humans, or anyone. I hate you all!” Tears rolled down his cheeks, blending with the droplets of water trickling down off his hair. “Somebody killed my best friend! Bastards! All of you!”

For the first time in his exceedingly long life, Crowley felt like a true being of Hell. Rage and sorrow tore him apart from the inside. A flash blinded him for a moment. Not a flash of light from an outside source, or even a flame that dared to venture too close to him in this precise second, but a flash nonetheless. It blinded him. Knocked him back and stole the breath from his lungs. The rage and sorrow and fear and hatred, he’d felt it all before. He knew this feeling intimately. It was how he fell. The reason he fell. His rage and hatred towards God for abandoning her first creations to slaughter each other and bring about the Great War of Heaven and Hell. The fear and sorrow he felt as he collapsed to his knees, a fist curled cruelly into his hair and rancid breath brushing across his face. In front of him an angel, crying out and curled up on themselves. He couldn’t see their face, but he knew them. A nameless angel he’d sworn to protect from harm. His responsibility.  _ His  _ angel. 

His…

“Aziraphale…” 

The angel was  _ his _ . The one in front of his face the whole time. All those memories, all those phantom feelings, the ability to know where Aziraphale was when he was in trouble. It all made sense, finally. The nameless angel was Aziraphale. He’d named him. He’d  _ Joined _ with him! They were bound in a way so very few creatures were. 

_ Aziraphale...Angel… _

Crowley stood and stooped to pick up his glasses and the only book he’d seen that hadn’t been burned. The sunglasses were beyond repair. Broken, melted, the lenses had been shattered. They were a write off. The book though, it was singed and a little charred, but still intact. Nothing else belonging to his angel could be saved, not even Aziraphale himself. One single blasted book was all Crowley would have left of that stuffy, infuriating, stubborn, dense, clever, wonderful, beautiful angel, and it was all Crowley’s fault. 

He’d lost him for the second time. Except there was no coming back from this. Aziraphale’s entire being was gone. Not even a body left on Earth for him to find and mourn over. Crowley’s felt weak and tired. Part of him wanted to just sit back down and let the fire consume him, but inconvenient discorporation wasn’t enough. The other part wanted to slink off and get gloriously, blindingly drunk. He wanted to sit in a pub, bottle in hand, as the whole world came crashing down around him. It didn’t matter anymore, anyway. He’d lost Aziraphale, the world was ending in a few hours, and he was in Hell’s bad books. Not that he cared anymore. Let Hell come after him. He’d even buy Hastur a drink first before he was destroyed. Aziraphale was gone, and so was his ability to give even the smallest of fucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit salty that we were deprived the gloriousness that was Crowley proclaiming he hated everyone and didn't care any more because someone had killed Aziraphale. So, I took the lines from the script book and wrote the scene out proper like.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PART THREE.  
> CHAPTER 11.
> 
> In which the end is drawing near.

With Armageddon averted, the not-quite-so-end-of-the-world forgotten by everyone except those closest to it, and with Heaven and Hell off of their backs, Aziraphale felt himself relax for the first time in what was possibly forever. They were free. Free of responsibilities, free of fear of reprimands and strongly worded notes (or worse, in Crowley’s case it would seem), free to do whatever they so pleased. _Free_. 

It was strange, though, how they had always, in a way, been free. From the very beginning. After all, any other angel never would have considered giving their flaming sword away to a couple of mortals who had just been banished from paradise. Nor would they strike up an unlikely friendship with a demon, _a demon_ for goodness sake! Worse, because it wasn’t just _any_ demon of course, it had been The Serpent. The being of pure evil who tempted Eve into committing the first mortal sin. The Original Sin. Except, as it turned out, the serpent didn’t much care for being a serpent and wasn’t nearly as evil as Heaven had tried to make demons out to be. 

He’d been kind, comforting, witty even. Crowley was the first friend Aziraphale had ever had, even if they were supposed to be enemies. They’d been able to show free will, something no other demon or angel seemed to have or even care about. Yet they did. They made their own choices (most of the time) and decided for themselves how to live their corporeal lives while on Earth. 

So perhaps...perhaps they had always _been_ free? Or maybe this feeling of freedom was something Adam provided for them when he fixed everything? After all, Adam had told them that they wouldn’t have to worry anymore, he’d make sure of that. 

“Well, Angel,” Crowley said with a small smirk as they wandered down the street. “What would you like to do with the rest of our lives? Hm? Anything at all.” 

Aziraphale blushed just so at Crowley’s fond nickname. Somewhere along the line, it had stopped hurting so much when Crowley called him ‘Angel’, though Aziraphale couldn’t figure out why. 

Drawing in a breath, he flashed a quick smile at Crowley before folding his hands in front of himself and looking straight back ahead. “I think, firstly, I should like to go back to my bookshop and share the most exquisite bottle of Veuve Clicquot Brut with you.” He leaned in against Crowley’s shoulder, lowering his voice almost like he was about to share the secrets of the universe. “I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.” 

“Well,” drawled Crowley as he stuffed his hands into his impossibly small pockets on his impossibly tight jeans, “saving the world, I gotta say that’d be a rather special occasion. Do you think?”

Aziraphale’s smile brightened, lighting up his whole face and nearly the whole of London. 

“Oh, I should certainly think so, yes.” 

“Well then, right. Veuve Clicquot Brut it is.”

As they walked down the street, shoulders just brushing ever so slightly, Aziraphale felt lighter than he ever had before. His days of being in Heaven full time had been so very long ago and sometimes felt more like a dream than a reality, but even so, he wasn’t sure he’d felt as good as he did right now even when he had been in Heaven. The world was safe and sound, all thanks to the love of an 11 year old boy; the living proof that one could change their destiny and who they were meant to be if they really wanted to. 

There was a lovely song Aziraphale had heard not terribly long ago that for some reason had stuck with him. A song about two lovers wishing to rewrite the stars so that they could be together no matter what anyone else said. For some reason, Aziraphale found himself humming that under his breath as they crossed the threshold of the bookshop. It struck a chord with him. He thought about just days before when Crowley had begged for them to run away together. How Crowley had been nearly in a panic as he spoke about how they could run off to Alpha Centauri, how no one would find them there. Even then, even when they were standing on that blasted old bandstand, Aziraphale had wanted to say yes. It had burned in him how badly he had wanted to say yes. He couldn’t then, though. Something deep down told him he had to stay, he had to try, he had to protect the world he and Crowley had helped to shape together. 

Now, with the world still turning, and Heaven and Hell off their cases for the time being, oh how he truly did want to fly with Crowley. He wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything else before in his long, long life. He longed to be able to spread his wings, take Crowley by the hand, and just _fly_. Without fear, just the two of them, chasing each other through the clouds and around the whole of the Earth. To soar from one end of the galaxy to the next. To dance amongst the stars that they both loved so dearly.

It couldn’t be though. Aziraphale had become certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that Crowley was Joined with someone else. He wasn’t Aziraphale’s to claim. Whoever Crowley was Joined with simply had to miss him dearly. Whether it was another demon or another angel, Aziraphale didn’t want to cause any trouble. Truthfully, it’d become harder to keep the box with his feelings for Crowley tucked away. The twine had worn thin and frayed, threatening to snap at any given time. 

“The kid didn’t do such a terrible job putting the shop back to rights, ey?” Asked Crowley. 

Aziraphale turned to look over his shoulder, brows raised in mild confusion before he took a look around him. 

“Oh! Oh, yes. No. I mean, he did a wonderful job. Everything very nearly exactly where it belongs. Though...those books on my desk? I don’t remember having those before. Are those new?” 

Momentarily forgetting about the bottle of champaign he’d been going to find, Aziraphale moved towards his desk to inspect the complete series of Just William books. They weren’t the type he usually collected, but, well they _were_ first editions so perhaps they’d be fine. Maybe he’d take and put them in his flat above the shop. They were a gift, after all.

“Yeah, noticed those too when I was here earlier. Thought the same thing,” Crowley answered as he came to stand beside Aziraphale and look the books over again. “At least they’re relatively old. He could have deposited the whole vast collection of Star Wars extended universe novels on your desk instead. Or Star Trek. That’s one extended universe that’s never going to end. Not sure if I regret creating that one or not…”

“Really, Crowley, sometimes I truly don’t know what on Earth you’re talking about.” Aziraphale huffed a soft laugh and carefully brushed past him on his way to finally retrieve the bottle. “I don’t suppose I want to know how it went Upstairs with Gabriel, do I?”

A low growl and grumble answered him. “No. You don’t. And if I ever lay eyes on that smarmy self-righteous bastard of a so called Archangel again, I’m going to make him regret every last thing he’s ever said or done to you. Ever.” 

Aziraphale frowned and shook his head sadly as he returned to the couch and armchair, exactly where they should be, and set the two glasses down followed by the bottle. Crowley’s promise warmed Aziraphale’s heart as much as it hurt it. Crowley, that silly, wily old serpent, still trying to protect him after all the danger was done. 

“My dear, you needn’t bother,” he sighed with a sad smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. “Gabriel is an Archangel, there’s nothing you could do to make him regret the things he’s said to me. It hardly matters anyways. They were only words and I --”

“It does matter!” Insisted Crowley. “It matters to _me_ ! He has been cruel and manipulative straight from the word Go. Never mattered who it was, he thought he was better than them, more important because he was God’s precious messenger. He’d Lord above everyone else. _Especially_ you.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up in Aziraphale’s chest at that.

“Crowley, how could you _possibly_ know that?”

“Because I…” Crowley cut himself off with a snap of his jaw. Whatever he had been about to say, he kept to himself and with a wave of his hand, dismissed the whole conversation. “Nothing. Never mind. Not important.” 

A frown of his own firmly in place, Aziraphale stared at Crowley for a moment before finally letting him steer the conversation in a different direction. 

The pair drank together well into the night, as they usually did. Though instead of their conversations involving how they were going to possibly stop the apocalypse, it became more of a quiet musing over what they could finally do now that they had no masters to report back to, so to speak. Aziraphale had slouched down low in his chair, chin pressed to his chest as he poured himself another glass and frowned when he found the bottle was in fact empty. 

“Oh...bother...Crowley, be a dear an’ go -- oh!” The bottle grew heavier and heavier in his hand until it was the full weight once more, and Aziraphale smiled brightly. “Oh, _thank you_ , my dear. Now...as...as I was saying...I think I should like to...to...to, Crowley what are you staring at me for?”

“Hm?”

“You...you’re staring at me. Did I spill something?” 

Aziraphale’s head buzzed and his body felt sluggish as he tried, and failed, to sit up properly to take a look at himself. It’d be a dreadful waste of a perfectly good vintage if he’d managed to spill any on himself. Not to mention the stain would be near impossible to get out of his waistcoat. 

From his place on the couch, Crowley finished his glass of wine in one gulp and shook his head. “No, no. No spills. Didn’t mean to stare. Must have...dunno...mind ran off with the spoon or something...dunno.” He muttered, words slow and slurred. He reached to take the bottle from Aziraphale, their fingers bumping and brushing in the drunken exchange before Crowley continued. Though when he did, his voice was softer, almost uncertain. “I...dunno what else I’d want to do now that we can do whatever we like. Just...keep doing what I’ve been doing? I don’t know.” 

“You’d keep securing souls for...for…”

“Noooo. Not that. Never did much of that anyway, you know that.” 

Aziraphale hummed softly but nodded. He looked up from staring into his wine when Crowley continued talking. 

“Inco...invic...trouble. Causing trouble. That’s what I do. J’st...cause some trouble e’ery now and again. Like...like in the old days. Remember? Remember at that Inn? The barmaid...beautiful young thing…”

“Arleigh?”

Crowley slapped his hand down on the arm of the couch and nodded. “Arleigh! Yes! An’...an’...her lover --”

“Husband--”

“--Whatever he was. ‘Member them? ‘Member how...how you had me miracle them into having sex? An’ you were so _jealous_.”

Aziraphale shifted in his seat, eyes downcast and ears burning red in embarrassment. Without a word, he began sobering himself up slowly. If he didn’t, he’d likely say something he didn’t mean to say. Like how he hadn’t been jealous of one or the other, he’d been jealous of them both. Of what they had with each other. How they could slip away unnoticed and lose themselves in each other. He’d wanted that for himself. For himself and for...well, it didn’t matter anymore. Aziraphale refused to interfere with the bond between Crowley and his partner. 

“They were a lovely couple,” he murmured, flinching slightly as his neck cramped up. “They ended up with fourteen children. Seven boys and seven girls. All lived to see adulthood.”

“Yeah...didn’t mean to make the miracle that potent. Got carried away…” Crowley grimaced as he leaned back against the cushions behind him. “Still though, you had lust rollin’ off you in spades! Lust an’ envy...so close to those Big Seven. I was really impressed.” 

At the time, Aziraphale had been horrified to think he’d been so close to committing every last one of the Seven Deadly Sins. He hadn’t wanted to think about it and denied it completely. He was still close to hitting every last one of them on the list, especially given the fact he’d become rather fond of sloth in particular. Shirking duties to keep himself holed up in his book shop to read, but for once, the thought didn’t terrify him. What terrified him was the thought of Crowley finding out the real reason behind his lust and envy.

He shifted awkwardly in his seat, forcing himself to sober up just a titch more. 

“Yes, well, suppose it doesn’t entirely matter anymore, does it? We’re on our own side now, as you’ve been reminding me lately. So, shouldn’t matter how close to all seven I am. Should it?”

Crowley blinked, dumbfounded, and answered with a single noise, “Ngk…”

With a heavy sigh, Aziraphale shook his head. If Crowley was resorting to single syllable non-words, it was time for them to call it a night. With one last miracle push to sober himself up completely -- not something he enjoyed, mind, the feel of cotton in his mouth was always unpleasant -- he pushed himself up out of his chair and began to gather up the empty bottles scattered across the floor. 

Crowley must have sensed that the end of their night was near. Face scrunched and look of distaste in his eyes, he slithered his way back up into a proper sitting position -- well, proper for him -- and groaned. Aziraphale patted his shoulder in sympathy as he walked by. Neither said a word for several minutes and Aziraphale wondered if perhaps Crowley had simply fallen asleep on his couch. Wouldn’t have been the first time, truth be told, and really Aziraphale never minded the times that he had. He’d simply settle a blanket over his shoulders, ensure that he’d have a restful sleep with pleasant dreams, and then go to busy himself in his back room until daybreak. 

Something told him, though, that Crowley hadn’t fallen asleep. That those golden-yellow eyes with their unnerving vertical slit pupils were locked on his every move. Any other person would have had the unsettling feeling of being the prey locked in the crosshairs of their predator, but not Aziraphale. If anything, the feeling of being watched so intensely settled over him in an odd combination of safety and fear. Safety because, well, he’d never felt anything but safe whenever Crowley’s eyes were on him. It was reassuring to know that Crowley was there, watching his back for him, in case anyone should try to harm him. The fear though. Oh the fear was something new. He was terrified of being under such focused scrutiny, that Crowley would see right through him to the deepest of his secrets. That Crowley would see that Aziraphale had fallen so hopelessly in love with him all those years ago, and wanted so badly to be the one Crowley loved in return. If Crowley were to find out about that...well, Aziraphale didn’t want to lose his only friend

“Angel…?”

The soft voice suddenly behind him drew Aziraphale from his thoughts. He turned and took a half step back out of surprise. He’d forgotten how quietly Crowley could move when he wanted to and how good he was at sneaking up on people. It startled him to find Crowley standing less than a foot from him, an odd, curious look on his face, and for some reason something Aziraphale could only describe as hope shining in his eyes. 

“Y-Yes?”

Crowley seemed to falter for a moment, shifting from one hip to the other as he tucked his hands back into his pockets. 

“How much do you remember of Heaven before the War?”

What an odd question. Normally, it was Aziraphale who asked those types of questions and was left confused once Crowley left in a flustered huff over it. The tables had been turned and for the life of him Aziraphale couldn’t figure out why. 

“From...Before?” He slowly asked, making sure he’d heard right. “Before _the_ War? The rebellion? When --”

“When the Great Fall of angels happened, yeah. What do you remember before that happened? Anything?”

Another nervous laugh bubbled out of Aziraphale as he quickly tried to find anything to focus his attention on that wasn’t Crowley’s eyes. There were still so many blank spots and blurred and fuzzy images that flashed through his mind when he least expected them. Feelings of comfort and security, but not many tangible memories that he could pin down to the time Before. 

“Oh, well, uhm, I...I remember...that is...it was such a long time ago, Crowley. You can’t possibly expect me to remember all the way back that far.”

“So you don’t remember anything? Not a thing? Not even a little bit?”

“I remember Michael’s training and being given the flaming sword. What more am I supposed to remember?”

Crowley’s entire being seemed to deflate, eyes suddenly dropped to stare at the floor. Whatever Crowley had been hoping to hear, or had wanted to hear, Aziraphale clearly hadn’t said it. 

“My dear, what is this all about?”

Just like that, Crowley squared his shoulders, gave a half shrug and moved towards the couch to pick his sunglasses up off the coffee table. A wall had seemingly gone up around him, blocking himself off from Aziraphale in a way he hadn’t done in several centuries. It was a defense mechanism, Aziraphale had learned to keep Crowley from getting hurt. Wall himself off and no one could reach him, no one could hurt him, no one would find his vulnerable underbelly and drive a sword straight through it. It was an act he’d perfected through the millennia and one that Aziraphale had thought he’d never see again now that they’d postponed the end of the world. 

“Just wondering,” Crowley answered with an ease that wasn’t quite believable. “You’re always asking me, figure I’d ask you for a change. You’d probably have a better memory of it than I do. She decided to take nearly all my memories of Heaven away when I Fell.” 

Aziraphale watched as Crowley started for the door. Part of him screamed out for him to beg Crowley not to leave, to stay with him. The other part longed to be alone and recharge and just get to know his shop again now that it’d been restored. Still, despite wanting that, he reached out to touch Crowley’s shoulder, stopping him before he could get up the few steps to reach the double doors out. 

“I truly don’t remember much,” he answered softly, speaking to the back of Crowley’s shoulder. “More than anything I remember feelings. Most of the rest of it is splotches of black where a memory should be but isn’t. I don’t know why I’m not allowed to remember much of the Before, but I’m not. I don’t. I’m sorry.” 

Crowley turned to face Aziraphale and flashed a soft, sad smile. His hand came to cup Aziraphale’s cheek gently, thumb just brushing under his eye, and the touch felt like a cool balm on his soul. 

“You don’t need to apologize, angel. For anything. It’s not your fault.” Crowley gave a sad smile for a moment before he leaned down ever so slightly to press a gentle kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead, startling him into taking another half step backwards and to stare up at him with wide eyes. 

There was sadness there in those serpent eyes that had replaced the hope Aziraphale had seen just moments earlier. Why, though? What had Crowley wanted to know? What had he wanted to hear? Maybe he wanted to know in case Aziraphale knew who he’d been Joined with up there. It would make sense, kind of. Except for the fact that it was hard to keep track of names when there were ten million others all fluttering about all the time and changing their appearances with each new gust of wind. 

Without another word, Crowley let his hand drop from Aziraphale’s cheek and left, leaving Aziraphale to stand at the door to watch as he drove off into the crowded and busy streets of Soho. Pain and sadness tugged at his chest as he watched the brake lights become indistinguishable from all the others on the street. A gentle rain had started to fall, not quite enough to completely wet the ground, but enough to have people ducking their heads and scurrying to find safety. The clubs had given their last call for the night only a half hour before, which left all the patrons to mill out into the street and bustle their way towards bus stops and in search of taxi drivers. 

Aziraphale could feel the love coming from the couples who laughed and played in the rain, lighthearted as school children under their inebriation. Felt the loneliness of the ones walking alone with their heads down and hands shoved deep in their pockets, wishing for someone to laugh and chase through puddles with. 

He sniffled softly before closing the door and locking it for the night. The bookshop had gone dark, and even a bit colder, once Crowley left and Aziraphale found he didn’t much care for it. He wanted Crowley there with him, to chase away the cool air and bring the light back into the shop. It was selfish, yes, but Aziraphale wished for it nonetheless. 

“Oh Lord,” he whispered as he went around tidying things on his way towards the back stairs leading up to his flat. “Please Lord, if Crowley can’t be reunited with the one he was Joined with, please...please let me be enough for him?”

The bookshop stayed silent as a tomb. 

Just as he’d expected it to do.


	12. Chapter 12

Crowley sat on their bench in St. James park, absentmindedly tossing frozen peas and corn into the water for the ducks to fight over. He still remembered the look of distraught horror on Aziraphale’s face when they learned that bread was in fact bad for the ducks and instead of feeding them, they were making the poor water fowl sick. Since then, they’d stuck to seeds or frozen vegetables. 

From thoughts of accidentally poisoning ducks, Crowley’s mind wandered to Aziraphale. His Angel. The angel who held the other half of his dark and broken soul and didn’t even realize it. It wasn’t like he’d been expecting some grand revelation when Crowley asked what he remembered, but he’d hoped for at least a little something more than being a soldier and training under the wanker, Michael. 

_ “...Michael said…” _

_ “Michael’s a wanker.” _

_ “You mustn’t say things like that! Someone may hear you!” _

_ “Oh, no one’s going to hear me. I’m out here on my own for a reason, you know. Besides, what kind of younger brother would I be if I didn’t think my older siblings were wankers?” _

He chuckled at that memory as it played out in his mind. Aziraphale had been terrified that he was going to be in trouble for that, and even more so when he saw who and what Crowley really was. An Archangel, younger brother to Gabriel and Michael, the creator of stars and planets and universes. A healer. The protector of one small, sweet angel who only wanted to be left alone by the others and had zero desire to become a soldier, even if that was what he’d been created for. One small, gorgeously blonde angel that Crowley himself -- well, Rafael, but same thing really-- had a part in creating, even if by accident. 

The angel he loved more than he had loved God herself. The angel he had given a name and a purpose to. 

Pain tugged at his heart, different from the blinding, white hot pain that would course through him when memories once used to try and present themselves. This was a deep, dull ache, twisting and squeezing at his chest the more he thought about Aziraphale and how much time they’d wasted. So many times they could have been with each other if they’d only been able to remember who they were once upon a time. 

With a growl of frustration, Crowley threw a fistful of peas towards the ducks and watched as they turned into tiny pebbles, pelting the birds on the head before sinking to the bottom. 

“Oh, you shouldn’t take it out on them; it’s not their fault. Honestly, that’s something I’d expect children to do.”

Crowley’s head shot up at the voice that suddenly spoke alongside him. It was a calm voice that went with an unassuming face of a woman. 

“Wot?”

Not the most intelligent answer, but there wasn’t much more that his brain could come up with at the moment. It was too busy trying to figure out why the voice sounded vaguely familiar. 

The woman smiled fondly and moved to settle herself down on the bench next to him, ignoring his squawk of protest at having an uninvited guest sitting on  _ his _ bench with him. She stared off over the water, letting the cool breeze of the early morning ruffle through her hair. 

“I love the morning, don’t you?” She asked softly, a serene smile tugging at her lips. “When the world is in that place between awake and asleep, the place where dreams live. It’s so peaceful. Easy to lose yourself in thought.”

A frown creased at Crowley’s brow. 

“Uh...right. Yeah. Course.” 

“It’s a time for dreamers and thinkers,” she continued, just barely giving Crowley time to give his answer, “to reflect about loved ones and love lost. It’s a time for the ones who stay up all night talking about nothing and everything, only to watch a new day dawn, wrapped in each others comfortable embrace.”

Something warm settled over Crowley as she spoke. Not quite confusion but not exactly understanding either. The woman felt familiar in the same way a dream feels familiar as one is waking up slowly. He felt comfortable around her. Which was telling all on its own since he rarely felt comfortable around anyone except Aziraphale. He tried not to shift in place as she spoke about the lovers who stay up all night just to watch the sun rise. It hit just a tad too close to home for him. How many times in the 6000 years he’d known Aziraphale had they done just that? Too wrapped up in their nonsensical conversations to realize an entire night had silently slipped past them.

Piercing blue eyes caught his own serpentine ones and for once he didn’t feel the need to hide them away behind his dark glasses. This woman saw him for who and what he was, and never so much as flinched away in horror. She didn’t even seem to acknowledge that his eyes were so very different from her own. Her eyes that looked so ancient and yet timeless; caring like a loving mother yet all knowing like a creature from Above. But she didn’t have that air about her. There was no aura surrounding her that designated her as being a creature of Heaven or Hell. Of course, she didn’t feel  _ human _ , either. 

“Have you any loved ones, my dear?” She asked suddenly.

The question seemed to have come out of left field and Crowley quickly shook his head as he looked away. Something about her gaze had him not wanting to be held under it for much longer.

“Nah,” 

She hummed thoughtfully. “Everyone has at least a single loved one. I have so many it’s hard to keep track of them all, sometimes.” She huffed a soft laugh and smiled sadly before looking out over the water again. “I’ve lost so many, though. I lost my oldest son so many years ago. He and his younger brother, both. Oh those two had been my pride and joy. Every time I see the morning star, I think of them.” 

Crowley shifted on the bench again. He picked up the bag of frozen peas and corn and held it out towards her. Her answering smile was small, but warm as she reached for a handful and carefully withdrew once again. 

She took her time to toss one pea to each and every duck in turn, followed by one piece of corn each. Amazingly enough, the ducks seemed to be waiting their turns instead of trying to snatch pieces away from each other.

“After I lost them, I swore not to interfere in my children’s lives again. To let them learn from their mistakes and make their own choices. Some went on to do such wonderful things with their lives, achieve such fantastic feats that they never dreamed possible. Some of them, though…”

A scowl worked its way across Crowley’s face as he shook his head and tossed another handful of frozen vegetables at the ducks. He wasn’t in the mood for idle chit-chat with some strange woman. He wanted to be alone, to wallow in his own self-pity and despair. 

“Look, I don’t know why you’re telling me all this, but I--”

A gentle hand found its way to his arm and Crowley lifted his eyes to watch her carefully. The sounds of the park around them fading into a quiet white noise as the woman began to speak again. “I suppose I just needed someone to talk to,” she answered, voice barely more than a whisper, “and it looked as if you could use a shoulder to lean on for a bit, yourself.”

Her eyes softened as she squeezed his arm gently but didn’t let go of him. “You remind me of my middle son. He was so curious and imaginative. Had such a strong will while his siblings were content to just follow the status quo. He used to make the most awe-inspiring things out of thin air. I wish I had the chance to apologize to him for how things were when he left home. To tell him how proud of him I am and that I sincerely hope he’s found the love and happiness with his angel that he’d always wanted.”

Crowley took a moment to scuff the toe of his shoe into the dirt path. His mind wandered back to the days before the great war. Back to the days where he’d create entire galaxies out of nothing more than his imagination. He thought about all the things he could have done, could have made, if he hadn’t let himself Fall. If he hadn’t doubted. Hadn’t asked so many questions. If he hadn’t been so  _ him _ . 

“My dear, you turned out exactly as you were supposed to. Don’t ever let yourself think differently. The world would be an entirely different place if you hadn’t turned out the way you did.” 

“Ngk…” Crowley gulped as he fought back the lump that had formed in his throat at those words. Oh how he’d longed to hear those words said to him for so many years.

Warm rivulettes formed on his cheeks and Crowley mentally cursed himself for it. What was he crying for? He had no reason to be crying? Yet the words seemed to touch something deep inside he thought had been burned out of him when he was pulled to Hell. He felt the urge to lean into this woman and tell her everything that had happened over the last 6000 years, how he’d remembered who  _ he _ was before the fall, but the one person he wanted more than anything hadn’t. They didn’t know who he’d been or what they’d meant to one another. 

“Oh sweetling,” she tsked, offering up a white handkerchief. “Why are you crying?”

Crowley shook his head, swatting at his eyes and using a small miracle of his own to erase the evidence of his tears. The roughness in his voice though, that was harder to hide. 

“ ‘M not...I just...neh...ngk...I...”

“My dear sweet one. You’ve been under considerable stress, trying to keep the things you love, more importantly the  _ one _ you love, safe from harm. Yes?”

Still wiping at his eyes and sniffling a bit, Crowley nodded. “Yeah...guess you could say that. Everything sort of went to Hell in a handbasket. Literally. A woven handbasket. Delivered it myself.”

A warm hand found its way to his cheek, tilting his head up until he was once again pinned in place by those deep blue eyes. The morning sun had just started to peak up over the horizon and it cast a glowing halo around the woman. Her smile soft and kind eyes, she leaned to rest her forehead against his. Crowley didn’t so much as even question the bizarre behavior, he simply closed his eyes and sighed a sigh that was eons in the making. 

“Go to him, Crowley,” she murmured. No, murmured wasn’t right. Her lips never moved and Crowley swore he heard her voice  _ inside _ his head. Not from his ears picking up the sound of her voice, but from  _ inside _ of him. “Go to him. Make him remember. He needs your help. Protect him, keep him safe from all who mean to harm him. He is yours…”

“...as I am his…” 

Crowley gasped for breath as he felt the air around him shift, a rush of warmth envelop him like a familiar hug, before it was gone again.

“Wait!” 

Across the path the ducks quacked and fluttered their wings, taking to the air on the back of Crowley’s sobbed out shout.


	13. Chapter 13

Aziraphale sighed, his heart heavy and weary. 

He’d been cleaning up his bookshop when he’d stumbled upon a box he hadn’t seen in well over a hundred years, over  _ two  _ hundred years, actually. Dated the spring of 1800, the year he’d opened his shop on that little corner in Soho. Curiosity always got the cat, as they say, and Aziraphale found himself sitting at his desk, the sparse contents of the box spread out in front of him. There’d been a clipping from the newspaper announcing his shop’s grand opening -- when he’d foolishly thought himself able to part with his beloved books; the handwritten receipt from the first (and first of the last) books he’d allowed himself to sell; a battered and worn first edition of  _ Sense and Sensibility  _ that he’d read so many times he’d needed to hide it away to keep it from falling apart; and finally...a picture. A portrait, faded from the years and curled at the corners. 

He and Crowley stood on the front steps of the shop, both dressed in the style of the time. Crowley, he remembered, always looked so fetching in his tailored tailcoat and long pants. The ensemble always managed to make him seem far taller, leaner, more predatory. They posed side by side, Aziraphale with his hands folded in front of him and a blinding smile forever etched on his face, while Crowley stood with his own hands clasped behind his back, chin raised elegantly and a devilish little lift to the corner of his mouth. 

Aziraphale had forgotten all about that photo. It had been taken the day of his official grand opening. Crowley had arranged for the photographer to come. It was only supposed to be a picture of Aziraphale on the front steps, but Crowley had given in under Aziraphale’s pleading gaze and insistence to finally join him in front of the double doors. For the first time, he hadn’t worried about Heaven or Hell finding them out. Angels and Demons alike were the furthest thoughts from his mind as he stood there beside Crowley. The only demon who truly mattered; even if at the time Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to admit outright to even being friends with him. 

It was one of only two photographs, that Aziraphale knew about, of them together. The second was on Crowley’s blasted smartphone, taken the day the demon had decided to invent those infernal “selfies” everyone kept twittering on about. 

An ache bloomed in his chest at that thought. There being only two photographs of them together. In a way, a way that Aziraphale wasn’t sure he really wanted to think about, it almost felt like something taken out of days gone by. The exchanging of miniatures with the person one was courting. Aziraphale had a photo of Crowley, and Crowley had a photo of him. He found himself wanting more, though. He wanted candid photos of Crowley sprawled out on the sofa in his bookshop, dozing in the warmth of the midday summer sun. Pictures of them together, smiling and laughing. So much time had been spent trying not to be found out by either side. Aziraphale was tired of not having his demon with him. Was tired of having to hide his friendship, hide his feelings that had long ago gone beyond friendship. 

He sat back in his chair to look at his pocket watch. The early morning rays of light had started to chase the dark shadows out of the corners of his shop. It had been over twelve hours since Crowley had left the shop looking so dejected and downtrodden. Twelve hours of Aziraphale trying so desperately to get a hold of him. He’d finally made up his mind, he would tell Crowley just how much he meant to him, the unknown Joined mate be damned. 

With a determined nod, and shoulders squared, he pushed himself away from his desk and moved to his phone. He would keep calling until Crowley answered. And if that failed, well, he did know where the former demon lived, after all, he would march over there and...his thoughts skidded to a halt when the front door swung open, the bell above it jingling merrily throughout the empty shop, followed by the familiar cry of “ _ Angel! _ ”

Aziraphale sobbed out in relief as he dropped the phone and rushed to the center of his shop. Crowley was fine. He was fine and he was there and he was whole and gorgeous and Aziraphale never wanted to let him out of his sight ever again. 

“Crowley…”

Crowley spun on his heels, his long legs twisted around themselves and nearly taking him down in his haste to turn around. His fiery red hair stuck up in so many directions, as if he’d been constantly raking his fingers through it and tugging on it in frustration, and his yellow eyes were rimmed with a red that could only mean he’d been crying. 

“Crowley, what...my dear, what happened? What’s wrong? I’ve been trying to reach you but you haven’t been answering. Is everything alright?”

Without a word Crowley threw his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders and buried his face in the crook of his neck, another sob shuddering out of him. Whatever had happened between the time Crowley had left the shop the night before and right then, it had clearly shaken the poor demon down to his very core. Aziraphale wasn’t sure of the last time he’d seen Crowley cry. 

“Angel...I…” the words tumbled off into a stream of stammering and stuttering and one syllable non-words that Crowley was so good at making. It was all nonsense, but Aziraphale pulled him back to the couch just the same, never letting go of him, not even once they had settled themselves. 

“What happened, dear?”

Crowley stammered again. “Can’t...don’t know…”

Aziraphale settled his hand on the back of Crowley’s head, holding him gently. “Oh Crowley, my dear. There, there. I...I’m sorry if I upset you earlier, I...”

A sniffle and slight grumble was the only answer he received, followed by a gentle tightening of arms around him. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath, and slowly set in explaining the things he wanted to say. 

“I...well, that is, I truly hadn’t meant to upset you last night. I know I was always the one bringing up our lives before the Fall and I shouldn’t have kept pressing. Not when I myself didn’t remember much. No, that...that’s not entirely true, I suppose. I remember  _ some _ things from before, I just, you see, the memories I do have...they hurt. And then I started to realize why it was you always shied away from it and especially about being Joined and, and I found our photograph from when I first opened my shop, see? And I started trying to call you because, you see, I...I had to tell you something. It’s something I should have told you ages ago, but, well, I was afraid, you see?”

“Tell me what?” Crowley’s voice was rough and low but his eyes held that small bit of hope again. 

Oh how Aziraphale hoped he was doing the right thing. 

“I...that is...it...it...oh dear, I’m making a mess of this already,” Aziraphale muttered, eyes cast down and away as he shook his head. It took him a moment to finally meet Crowley’s gaze again and steel his determination. It had to be known. “I love you, Crowley. I love you and I know that you couldn’t possibly love me in return, but I had to tell you. I fear I rather went and fell  _ in love _ with you a dozen lifetimes ago. I know that you were Joined with someone at some point, but you had to know how I feel before--”

“You.” 

Aziraphale stopped rambling at Crowley’s single word that had cut him off. He blinked twice and frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“ _ You _ ,” Crowley stressed, his head already shaking back and forth. “ _ You _ , Aziraphale! It’s  _ you _ !”

“It’s me, what?  _ What _ is me?”

Crowley let out a wet laugh and shook his head again. He reached out to cradle Aziraphale’s face in his hands gently before dipping to rest their foreheads together. All of the times that Aziraphale felt his heart and body cry out to keep Crowley close surged forward in that moment, at that simple, but intimate touch. Flashes of memories darted through his mind faster than he could keep track of, but instead of leaving him feeling weak and on the verge of fainting, it left him feeling more confused. What was happening? Why all of the sudden were the memories coming at him with such force but still he couldn’t grasp them? 

“Join with me, angel,” whispered Crowley. “Please? Angel, I love you more than anything else and I want us to be Joined. Again.”

“A-Again?” 

“Yes. Please, Angel? I want to Know you. I want to be a part of you,” Crowley’s hands clasped Aziraphale’s, placing them on his chest. “I want you to be a part of me. For us to be together as One. Always.”

Aziraphale swallowed hard past the tightness in his throat. Somewhere in his memories he swore he could hear those exact words being said to him in a voice so very similar to Crowley’s. Filled with love and devotion and possibly just a bit of desperation. It didn’t make sense though. Aziraphale had never Joined with  _ anyone _ . No one had ever  _ wanted _ to join with him. Gabriel and Michael had said he shouldn’t concern himself with such trivial matters. His job was to guard the gate of Eden and he hadn’t even been able to do that.

“C-Crowley...what...what are you talking about? You...I’m  _ certain _ you are already bound to someone. And whoever they are, I don’t think they’d appreciate you saying these things to me. I simply had to tell you that I love -- umph!”

Lips were suddenly on his, his body pushed backwards as Crowley leaned into him. It wasn’t a demanding kiss, or desperate, but it  _ was _ rather bruising. A hand had found its way back to Aziraphale’s cheek, holding him still as Crowley poured himself into the kiss. Slowly the memories slotted into the blank spaces in his mind. 

An Archangel with stardust forever trapped in his wings and hair and on his skin like celestial freckles -- freckles to match the ones that were brushed across Crowley’s skin. 

Gentle hands holding his as bandages were wrapped around them. Gentle hands that cupped Aziraphale’s chin and brushed over his own whenever they handed something off to each other. 

A smile that could light up the faintest star. One that never failed to brighten Aziraphale’s shop. 

He could hear a laugh that made his heart soar with happiness and it was so like the one he could startle out of Crowley from time to time. 

He saw them chasing each other through the stars and around planets, catching the other in a hug before soaring off again, something he’d so longed to do with Crowley on a number of occasions, though he could never figure out why. 

There were stars and moons and planets, scrolls with sigils written on them so close to being the same but with a small variation to them. 

And love.

Oh there was so much love he felt wash over him. Love that was more than just the standard for a celestial being. It was a love that ran so deep it nearly choked him. He heard the words in his head again.  _ “I want to Know you. For us to be as One. Always. _ ” He felt the kiss and their bodies coming together and their souls joining and…

“ _ Crowley _ …” Aziraphale sobbed as soon as Crowley had moved from his lips to his neck. It was  _ him _ . It had always  _ been _ him. “You...you’re…”

“I am yours,” he murmured against the soft skin of Aziraphale’s neck, just under his ear, “As you are mine, Angel.  _ Always _ .”

Without stopping to even think about what he was doing, Aziraphale threw his arms around Crowley’s neck and between one blink and the next, they were transported out of the shop and somewhere else. Somewhere with a soft bed and soft blankets, soft enough to give the impression of being surrounded by the warmest clouds. He moaned low in his throat the moment he felt Crowley’s body cover his and press him down into the bed. 

The memory of them Joining as angels rushed back to him, and though it had felt incredible, it didn’t hold a candle to the way Crowley felt on top of him in this moment. Warm, wet lips trailing down his neck and pausing for only a moment to suck an angry red mark just below his Adam’s apple. Hands, so rough but gentle, gliding under his shirt as high as they could reach before sliding back down his body. Their hips slotted together and drew a strangled groan out of both of them. 

They’d joined together once before as angels, now Aziraphale wanted to Know Crowley the human way. To feel every inch of smooth skin pressed to his own. To see how their bodies fit together; Crowley’s all lean muscle and sharp edged to Aziraphale’s own soft roundness. 

Distantly he realized Crowley was speaking, uttering a quiet litany of “ _ Please, please, please… _ ” against his throat. Their hips had already begun to shift against one another and Aziraphale found himself pressing his head into the pillow under him as he arched his back up off the bed slightly. The answering, “ _ Yes...yes, Crowley...oh, please yes…”  _ filling the gaps in between. 

Crowley pushed himself onto his elbows, which only served to press their lower bodies together harder. They both paused to let their moans of pleasure be heard before Crowley dared try to speak again. 

“You were mine, Angel. Mine all along. But...but I’m not that Archangel, anymore. I’m a demon, through and through. So, if you don’t want this, if you don’t want  _ me _ , if it’s that Archangel you’re looking for…”

Aziraphale raised a hand to press the tips of his fingers against Crowley’s lips, cutting off anything else he had wanted to say. At the soft look of dismay shining in those large, round eyes, Aziraphale let his fingers trace over his lips and down the long line of his neck. 

“I fell in love with  _ you _ , Crowley. I didn’t remember you any other way up until a few moments ago. It’s  _ you _ , I want, dear. The wily serpent who tempted me in so many marvelous and wonderful ways and took bits and pieces of my foolish angel heart until you had claimed every last piece of it. You’re who I want. The one I would love nothing more than to be joined with. As our true selves, and in the human way. I want us to be a part of each other, now and forever.” 

Another sob fell from Crowley’s mouth, this one caught by Aziraphale as they kissed each other deeply again. Hands sought out more and more skin as they unwrapped one another from their clothes, feather light touches followed on the heels by burning hot kisses, licks and nips, teases in all the places they’d always longed to be touched. They were on a mission, it seemed. Not just a mission to claim each other again, but to make the other forget there had ever been anyone else to see them so exposed, so vulnerable. To banish away the phantom caresses of partners long since gone. 

Aziraphale in particular learned that he quite enjoyed all the ministrations Crowley lavished on his neck, and the way his warm, damp breath ghosted across his ear whenever he moaned or murmured his devotions to him. The scattered few lovers he’d taken in the past had never done much more than serve their purpose and move along, so to have Crowley pressing him down into the mattress and showering him in affection and words of love nearly brought Aziraphale to tears. He shivered at the way Crowley held his wrists firmly above his head as their bodies came together, how they slotted together so perfectly it caused stars to erupt behind his eyes. 

This was what Aziraphale wanted.

This was what he’d been  _ needing _ for so long. For so many centuries. From those first inklings of lust that Crowley had picked up on and mistaken in that tiny tavern, to those long nights spent alone in his small gardner’s house on the Dowling’s estate.

He’d wanted Crowley for so very long. Even after realizing that Crowley had to have been Joined with someone, oh how he’d wanted Crowley to lay him down and make him his own. It felt so right, so wonderful, so perfect. He opened himself up to Crowley for a second time, letting all his love and essence come rushing out of him to crash against Crowley’s. In an instant they found themselves enclosed in a cocoon of iridescent black and blinding white wings. Safe, warm, secure, hidden from sight from prying eyes as they gave themselves over to each other again and again. 

When they reached their breaking point, both on the physical and metaphysical plane, a shockwave went out to every corner of the known and even unknown galaxies. It was a message to their respective sides, or rather,  _ former _ sides. It declared to Heaven and Hell that the Almighty had created them for one another. Had charted their paths before either of them knew the other even existed. For all the hurt and pain that had fallen on them through the years, it had always meant to be that way. Had they figured themselves out sooner, the apocalypse would have happened and the world would have ended. They wouldn’t have stayed on Earth long enough to become fond of it or the humans on it. They had needed to spend centuries apart, to learn about the world and its customs and to love it enough to want to protect it. 

She had created them to be humanity's guardians. 

Given them free will and desires. 

They were the balance between good and evil, right and wrong. 

They were her most beloved of all her angelic children. 

And they had finally found each other.

They’d finally found Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read this.  
> Kudos and comments always appreciated.


End file.
